Gamgees' Bane
by CailenBraern
Summary: Samwise Gamgee is considered by many to be a decent, respectable hobbit. Unusual for a lad his age, but what goes on behind closed doors? Rated for later chapters
1. Chapter 1

"SAMWISE! What do you think you are doin' lad?" Hamfast's voice bellowed across the garden to where his son was knelt down, hard at work. He trembled when he heard the tone of his dad's voice and braced himself for his harsh words.  
  
"I'm replanting the zinnias da" he answered, keeping his eyes focused on the ground.  
  
"Did I tell you to do that?" The Gaffer strode across the garden and towered above him. Sam shook his head. "Look at me, and speak when you're spoken to lad! Sam looked into his eyes, and his voice trembled slightly.  
  
"No sir."  
  
"Then why in blazes aren't you doing what I told you to do? What did I tell you to do Samwise?" Sam glanced briefly at the vegetable patch and looked back at his father's feet.  
  
"Dig up the potatoes sir," he replied, timidly.  
  
"So why aren't you doing it?" Sam blinked, working up the courage to tell him the truth.  
  
"I thought...well that the potatoes mightn't be ready just this yet, and that they cold use a day longer and as for these zinnias..."  
  
"Samwise Gamgee!" He lowered his voice so he would not be overheard. "When I agreed you could work here as my apprentice, I did not agree to you giving me lessons in gardening! If I tell you to do something I expect it to be done without a doubt!" The Gaffer advanced towards Sam, his left arm outstretched.  
  
"Good morning Hamfast! Ah and young Sam too." A cheerful and gladly welcome voice rang out from the hill. Sam sighed in relief. The Gaffer would do nothing whilst his Master was around.  
  
"Mornin' Mister Bilbo!" Hamfast replied, giving Sam a rough shove. Sam repeated his greeting.  
  
"Lovely day isn't it, lads? So much better than that dreadful drizzle we've been having lately."  
  
"Aye sir" the Gaffer replied, "but the rain is important for a healthy garden Mister Bilbo."  
  
"Certainly, of course!" Bilbo agreed. "Well, it seems I overcatered for lunch today. Frodo and myself couldn't possibly eat it by ourselves, and I'd hate to see food go to waste. Won't you two join us?"  
  
"That sounds lovely sir, and I'm inclined to accept. Unfortunately Samwise will not be eating with us, he's been slacking in his duties and he needs to catch up."  
  
Sam blushed and looked down at the ground, he was starved from missing second breakfast and he doubted hid dad would allow him to indulge in afternoon tea. When he looked up again, Bilbo was giving the Gaffer a searching look, as if not quite satisfied.  
  
"Oh now, that is a dreadful shame. Frodo enjoys Sam's company so much, and he was looking forward to having a bit of lunch with the lad."  
  
"All the same sir, nothing good will come of Samwise getting too close to your Frodo. Not right for a lad of his status mixing with the gentry. You go on in, Mister Bilbo, while I have a word with Sam and get cleaned up."  
  
Bilbo nodded and said a farewell to Sam, disappearing back into the hole. Within an instant, Hamfast span round to face Sam, who found himself shrinking back.  
  
"Just see you do what I tell you lad. I want to see this year's crop of potatoes gathered when I come back, and you'll know the devil if I hear any talk from Mister Bilbo and Mister Frodo of you acting above what you ought to!" As soon as the words had left his father's lips he had gone, leaving Sam to blink back the tears that he would not let fall. He left the zinnias he was working on and fetched a sack from the toolshed.  
  
He headed over to the vegetable patch and started uprooting the potatoes. He had been right. The crop he had pulled up were undersized, and a puce colour. By rights they should have been left alone for another couple of days, what with the weather they'd been having. Nevertheless, fearing a strike from his father, he kept on pulling them up, each one as puny as the others.  
  
After an hour, Hamfast came out to see how he was doing. He picked one up out of one of the sacks and weighed it in his hand.  
  
"Well this one didn't do so well," he said, trying to be civil. At that moment he saw Sam pull up three potatoes from the soil. "By the lands, are they all like this?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Sam replied, putting them into the sack.  
  
"How many rows have you pulled up?"  
  
"15" he replied, preparing for the outburst to follow.  
  
"FIFTEEN?" His gaffer yelled, his golden face turning beetroot red. "That only leaves eight rows left! Leave it alone!" Sam had been about to dig up some more potatoes, but stopped at the request of his dad. "Why didn't you have the sense to stop? 'stead of ruinin' a years crop!" Sam made no reply, he knew why he had not but he did not speak for fear of reprimand. "Leastways we can save the rest. Leave them there for another few days.  
  
"That's what I told you da!" Sam regretted his words instantly.  
  
"YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO TELL ME HOW TO DO ANYTHIN'!" Hamfast roared. "I am your father and you learn from me!" He struck Sam so suddenly and without warning that Sam felt himself crashing to the ground. His cheek stung and throbbed, and tears pricked his eyes. "Take yourself 'ome lad. I don't want you clambering around, gettin' in my way when I've got work to do!"  
  
Sam turned away so as not to show the tear that fell down his cheek. Brushing off the dirt from his legs, he stood up and walked over to the gate. "I'll deal with you later" his father called from behind, and a feeling of dread crept into Sam's bones.  
  
*  
  
I"Sam, come here!" His father called, with laboured breathing and heavy sadness. It made him sad to think of what could bring his father to look at the world so dejectedly.  
  
He stood still in his place, looking around at his brothers. They all shared his fathers' expression and held some of his sisters in their arms. The rest sat on chairs, or on the floor. His sisters' cheeks were wet from tears.  
  
"What's happened?" He asked, troubled deeply to think of why his whole family was so upset. Wait! – He scanned the room again to make sure he was not mistaken. He wasn't. There was someone missing.  
  
"Where's mama?" A choked sob from his youngest sister, he never took his eyes off of his father. Brown eyes met his golden, and his father stared long and hard, thinking of how to tell him. It had been easier for the rest. His brothers and sisters had all been present to witness the event.  
  
"Sam," his father paused, seeming to lose his voice, "whilst you were staying down on the Cottons' farm, your mother...she, she came down with a terrible fever."  
  
"Is she all right? Let me go in and see her!" He interrupted, worry seizing his heart. His eldest sister stood up and ran out into the garden, and his youngest followed, sobbing. He frowned, something wasn't right.  
  
"Sam, the fever was terrible! It came on so suddenly! We sent for the healer, but he arrived too late."  
  
"What are you talking about?" He already knew the answer but he prayed and hoped it wasn't so.  
  
"Samwise, your mother died. She passed away last night in her sleep."  
  
He was stunned. No words came into his head, no words were spoken. He stood there gaping, not comprehending.  
  
"Leave us!" his father ordered. His brothers and sisters went out into the garden. He searched his fathers' face for some hint, some flicker of proof that this was all some cruel lie. Nothing showed. Staggering back his eyes scanned the room, expecting his mother to walk in and hold him in her arms. His eye fell upon the slate on the wall by the entrance. Yesterday it had been covered in chalk marks to count the days of the month, but today it had been wiped clean, and a solitary mark was etched on the grey, signaling the start of a new month. A fool! This was an Astron fool! It had to be.  
  
He laughed. To his father, the shrill giggle of his youngest son on the verge of maturity sounded like the laugh of a madman, and he felt hot anger surge up and through him.  
  
"You almost had me there, da!" He said when he had stopped laughing. "But that's a rather cruel fool to play don't you think?" He grew scared when he saw his fathers' face.  
  
"Boy, the only fool in this room is you."  
  
His face fell once more.  
  
"No! It's a lie! It has to be! Mama's not dead!" His voice grew louder as he spoke until he almost yelled the last sentence. His father glared at him; his father had never looked him at like that and it frightened him to the core.  
  
Footsteps. One. Two. Three. Within seconds his father was standing face to face with him, with his brown eyes blazing with fury.  
  
"You don't understand, do you, lad? Stuck in lands of Elves and faeries where nobody ever dies, where there ain't never no hurt!" His father drew his left arm back and before he had time to blink he was knocked to the ground.  
  
His face connected with the wooden boards, his face that had stung from the force of his fathers' strike now screamed with pain. When he had opened his eyes, he found he could see down the corridor. At the end of the corridor the room to the spare room was wide open, and there on the bed, like some beautiful elf, lay his mother, surrounded by forget-me-not petals. She was deathly still, and her cheeks were no longer filled with the rosy pallor she had possessed since she was a babe. His mother had gone, and he was left alone with his father. As if to remind him, he felt the throbbing in his cheek intensify, and he felt the gates open, and lay still, sobbing. /I  
  
*  
  
That was the moment it had all started, Sam reflected, as he sat alone in the parlour of #3, Bagshot Row. That fateful day when he had found out his mother had died, and acted immaturely. His father had reprimanded him something horrid, and he was sore for days after that. He looked at the clock on the mantle, at least two more hours since his father came home, and would see to him once more, as he always did. He brought his fingers to his lips, as he always did lately, when he would fear for his safety. It was a nasty habit, but one he couldn't break, and he often tore the skin at the tops of his fingers, when nibbling his nails was not enough punishment. He looked back at the clock. 1 hour and fifty eight minutes. Already he could taste the copper on his tongue, how long would it be before he would find scarlet rivers running down his back. 


	2. Chapter 2

"SAMWISE!"  
  
*Oh Eru, he's home. *  
  
"I'm warning you boy, get out here."  
  
* Why won't he leave me alone? I don't mean to be bad. *  
  
"Get out here lad, I want to see your unfit body in front of my eyes by the time I count to ten."  
  
He scrunched his eyes up tight against the tears threatening to fall. Crying would make things worse.  
  
"One.... Two."  
  
He sounded angry. He usually calmed down before he came home.  
  
"Three...Four."  
  
He could hear the impatience in his father's voice, With a loud scrape that startled him, he pushed the chair out from under the table and stood up.  
  
"Five...Six."  
  
His footsteps were heavy as he walked the mile (or so it seemed) down the hall.  
  
"Seven...Eight."  
  
And there he was, standing tall and scowling.  
  
"Just in time Samwise." He said, through gritted teeth. Sam was silent.  
  
"Someone caught your tongue lad?" Still no answer. "You can't string three words together for your own father, yet you can chew off the ears of those that are your betters!"  
  
Sam looked up sharply, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. "What?"  
  
"Mr. Bilbo had a talk with me, shortly after you went home. Asking me about when would be the best time to start your lessons."  
  
Dread crept into Sam. Mr. Bilbo had mentioned offering him lessons in his letters if he was interest. Sam had said he was interested but he would have to ask the Gaffer, and now it had slipped his mind.  
  
"What business be you having with letters lad? You're a gardener! And if I survived without knowing my letters then you sure as blast can! You're too simple to learn your letters, and you'll never be much more than a gardener, it's not in you so don't go having high hopes!"  
  
Sam looked down, eyes downcast. His lower lip trembled slightly before he could help it. "Now I told Mr. Bilbo that you wouldn't be needing lessons."  
  
Sam looked up again, his eyes damp. "What? Please da...I want - "  
  
"I don't care! You're not having lessons and that's that! You've got enough nonsense in that foolish head already without the Bagginses adding to it!"  
  
"No da, please! Frodo said I could..."  
  
"SAM!" Hamfast roared, and stuck Sam around the ear with the back of his hand with a mighty blow. Sam lost all hearing in that ear temporarily, and all he was aware of was a ringing sound. He couldn't take anymore and released the tears.  
  
"Stop your sniveling!" but if Sam heard this he paid no heed. "Didn't you hear me, boy?"  
  
Sam remained silent for a little while, gathering himself. "Sir...it's all I've asked for...I've not asked you for anything before." He could tell by the reddening of his father's face that he had said something wrong.  
  
He saw stars before he felt the force of what had hit him, just below his right eye on his cheek, his fathers fist had connected, knocking him senseless.  
  
"And what about asking me to look after you. You've never actually asked me granted, but it's unspoken, since your mother died you would have been left stranded. I've fed you, I've clothed you, I've worked hard to put a roof over your head and this is how you're repaying me! By wanting to learn fancy letters that'd do no good for a lad of your class."  
  
Sam's hand went to his cheek to feel the damage. There was a small cut, caused by the Wedding ring his father still wore, and there would be an ugly welt there for a couple of days. This would be harder to cover up than most of his earlier injuries, that had been cast upon his arms, back or legs.  
  
"I don't want to be just a gardener sir. I want to be able to read stories, and visit Elves and go off on adventures!"  
  
This was more than Hamfast was willing to hear. Grabbing his son by the lobe of his ear he led him into the kitchen and laid him face down upon the wooden table.  
  
"DAD, NO!" Sam thrashed about wildly, kicking and screaming. "I'm sorry, sir! PLEASE! Don't do this."  
  
"It's not my fault you can't learn what's good for you son, I just have to make sure you learn someday." He ripped open Sam's shirt from the collar down, and discarded it onto the floor.  
  
Already the scars were fading from the last time Sam had misjudged his father's mood, and soon those small pink marks will reopen, trickling with ruby rivers.  
  
"I'm sorry! Don't do this please! I'm so sorry!" Sam sobbed, still kicking and thrashing, but his father was still strong in his old age. With one hand restraining his son, the other unfastened the belt around his waist.  
  
"Hold still, or you'll make it worse!" Hamfast yelled, trying to make himself heard over the screaming lad, but his words were in vain. With a sharp swing he brought the belt up and struck a blow onto the pale skin of his son that had not seen the sun for many months.  
  
Sam's shrieks pierced the air, and Hamfast was once more grateful that his daughters were at his sisters', his other sons were at work, and the only nearest neighbours were too far away to hear. 


	3. Chapter 3

'Come on Lazybones! Y our absence has been noticed and folk are starting to talk, you know!' Hamfast greeted gruffly as he threw open the curtains.  
  
Sam groaned and shut his eyes up tight against the dawn light. His neck felt sore from sleeping with it lying to the side on his pillow. Due to his injuries he couldn't sleep on his back or sides, so he was forced to sleep on his front.  
  
'You've rested long enough Sam' his father said, putting on a cheerful countenance, 'time to get back to work! It'll be an easy day for you lad. You'll be waitin' on Mr. Frodo whilst Mr. Bilbo's away, and doin' no strenuous gardenin'!' He walked around to the side of Sam's bed and helped him out tenderly. 'Now let's get you washed, dressed and fed, and if I hear you've been talking to Mr. Frodo about letters or Elves or other such nonsense, you won't sit down for a year!'  
  
Within an hour they had both left no. 3, Bagshot Row and made their way up to the Hill. With a final warning to be on his best behaviour, the Gaffer went round to the garden at the front, leaving Sam to enter the hole through the back door.  
  
He pushed open the door and stepped into the kitchen, to find Frodo sitting at the table nursing and empty mug and staring into space.  
  
'Mornin' Mr. Frodo' Sam greeted, standing straight. His back felt sore, and the wounds healing felt tight, and ready to reopen at any moment. Frodo looked up from his thoughts and broke into a grin.  
  
'Sam!' Frodo stood up from his chair and rushed over to his friend. 'It's good to see you back! Colds can be such terrible things. Are you feeling well now?'  
  
Cold. Figures the Gaffer would spin some story about his absence.  
  
'Aye I am, sir, few days of rest done me good' he replied. 'Would you like a fresh cup of tea, Mr. Frodo?' Frodo didn't answer, as he had just noticed the faded purple bruise under Sam's right eye.  
  
'What happened?' he asked, eyes wide. Sam didn't like Frodo like that, to pretend to be so worried about him. He was a worker; a gardener and he cared for his master, not the other way around.  
  
'It's nothing' he muttered, fetching up the empty mug and plates to wash up, bending at the knees so as not to risk reopening his wounds.'  
  
'Leave that!' Frodo ordered, and Sam left them on the table in a neat stack. 'Look at me!' slowly Sam turned to Frodo, blushing and keeping his eyes downcast.  
  
'I walked into the door sir, while I was ill. I was feverish.'  
  
'Don't lie to me Sam,' Frodo stared at him, but Sam said nothing. 'You got into a disagreement with Ted again, didn't you?' Sam looked up and met Frodos' eyes at last. He nodded twice. 'Oh Sam, you can't solve everything with fists!' Especially not with those older than you!' Sam blushed again, embarrassed of what he had not done.  
  
'I know sir, but he was saying some right hurtful things!'  
  
'He's not worth listening to Sam, everyone knows that.' Sam looked down. 'Anyway, I hope he walked away with more than a bruise!'  
  
Sam nodded and smiled sheepishly. The door opened behind them and Bilbo bustled into the kitchen.  
  
'Right lads, the Gaffer's doing his work, and he won't stop for rest for at least two hours. Plenty of time I should think.'  
  
Sam gaped at Bilbo, who was supposed to be down at the market with business. Frodo placed a hand on his shoulder causing him to tense up and bite back a cry.  
  
'Are you ready Sam?' Frodo asked, sensing his touch was not wanted and drew back his hand.  
  
'Ready for what, sir?'  
  
'Why your lesson of course! Did you forget already?' The pain searing through his shoulder said that he had not forgotten.  
  
'No Mr. Bilbo, I haven't, but my Gaffer, he don't take to me having lessons, not one bit.'  
  
'We know that Samwise, we guessed from his reaction when we asked him about it the other day. Frodo thought up a plan though, because we know how dearly you want to learn your letters. Whilst Hamfast thinks I am out of town, he has no reason to suspect I'm here teaching you! What he doesn't know couldn't hurt him.'  
  
Sam turned from Bilbo to Frodo in disbelief; he had thought Bilbo had offered to teach him out of courtesy or to keep Frodo company. He couldn't understand why they were going to such trouble just to teach him.  
  
He didn't give it much thought, and forgot his place as he grinned from ear to ear, leaning over to hug Bilbo.  
  
His skin stretched painfully tight across his back, and he felt spasms of pain. Just as soon as he had forgotten, he remembered his fathers' threat.  
  
'Mr. Bilbo, that's right kind of you sir, but I ought not to, against my Gaffer's back.'  
  
Bilbo regarded him long ad hard before asking in a perfectly calm voice, 'What would he do Sam? If he found out.'  
  
Sam hadn't been expecting that, and he fumbled for an answer.  
  
'Mornin' all!' Hamfasts' gruff voice greeted as he entered the kitchen. 'Just checking in on young Sam here, seeing he ain't slackin' off, which he looks to be doin'.'  
  
Sams' eyes widened in fear and he moved to pick up the stack of plates and mug, carrying them over to the wash bowl.  
  
'He's fine, Master Hamfast' replied Bilbo, 'we were just bending his ear a little, that's all.'  
  
Hamfast looked at Bilbo, only just noticing his presence.  
  
'Mr. Bilbo! Why I thought you were away this mornin'!'  
  
'You are not mistaken Ham,' Bilbo smiled and grabbed his walking stick and cloak, 'I am running late today.'  
  
'I hope that's not my Sams' fault,' Hamfast said, looking over to his son at the wash bowl, who rattled two dishes together, and made such a noise. 'Be careful, you ninnyhammer!' The Gaffer reproached, and Frodo looked at Sam. He was standing with his back to Frodo.  
  
Usually when Sam washed up, he would bend over the basin, giving each piece of crockery special attention. Today however, he stood absolutely straight, so he had to reach for each plate with his arms.  
  
'No Hamfast, he's been no trouble at all, now I must be on my way now. Behave Frodo!' Bilbo called as he left the hole. Frodo rolled his eyes and nodded at Hamfast, who excused himself.  
  
'Remember what I said this morning Sam!' were the last words he said.  
  
There was silence in the kitchen, aside from the rattling of plates.  
  
Frodo stood watching his friends' movements; they were slow, almost mechanic. Frodo had often watched Sam when he had been at work, drawn by the endless energy Sam had always seemed to possess; his eagerness to please. He was young, still a child by hobbit reckoning, but he had grown and developed into a mature adult under Frodos' eyes, in frame as well as mind. Perhaps, judging by his recent sadness, and a melancholy that could match Frodos' own, he had maybe grown up too quickly, and missed out on his childhood, the best years of a Hobbits' life. Sam was not the lad he used to be.  
  
Now as he watched, those muscles that had seemed so strong the other month, were now lax. Something was wrong with his friend, he just knew it.  
  
If Frodo were honest with himself, he would realise why he had watched Sam so much. Frodo was an adult, or at least close enough to it, with his coming of age in two years, and he had feelings, just like everybody else.  
  
Only Sam had caught his eye, and he felt bad for it, because Sam was still virtually a child.  
  
'He's too hard on you,' Frodo said at last, breaking the silence. Sam said nothing, and stared into the wash bowl as Frodo walked towards him.  
  
'He expects too much of you, and you're not even a tween yet!' Frodo rested his hand on Sam's back to comfort him, but to his surprise Sam hissed and backed away from his touch, spinning around so suddenly that he almost knocked Frodo to the ground. 'Sam...' Frodo breathed, gasping for air.  
  
'I'm sorry Mr. Frodo,' Sam said, drying his hands on his breeches. 'You gave me a terrible fright, sneaking up on me like t'at!'  
  
Frodo studied Sam. His breathed hitched, and his teeth were gritted; jaw clenched in obvious pain. Frodo frowned. 'I told you not to lie to me! Now are you going to tell me what's wrong?' Sam focused on a spot behind Frodo and said nothing. 'Very well, Sam. You leave me no choice but to ask your father.'  
  
'No!' Sam cried, eyes wide and tears threatening to spill. 'Sir...you can't say anythin' to him, please! If he finds out I've been complainin'...not that I am!' Sam backpedaled.  
  
'What?'  
  
Sam looked at Frodo with a confused expression.  
  
'If he finds out, what would he do?'  
  
'I came here to do a job Mr. Frodo, not to spend the day talking to you about myself,' Sam replied, avoiding Frodos' eyes.  
  
'And I send for you personally because I care about you!' Frodo retorted, wanting to yell at Sam for being blind. Sam just stood there staring at Frodo, unable to process the words. At last he spoke. 'You shouldn't do that sir.'  
  
'Do what, Sam?'  
  
'Pretend that I'm one of your cousins, or your well-to-do friends like Fatty. I'm the son of a gardener, and a servant, and I don't want anybody's care sir, I don't deserve it.'  
  
'Did Ted knock your head against a wall when he struck you? Have you completely lost your mind? You are talking rubbish Sam Gamgee. Every hobbit deserves to be cared for, and you especially! You are kind, and sweet, and you have a good heart, which I admire you for. Don't let anybody tell you differently. I know you've been through some tough times, you lost your mother and you took it hard. Be thankful you've still got a parent left in the world Samwise, I lost both of mine.'  
  
'So did I,' Sam replied, his voice barely above a whisper.  
  
'What?'  
  
'I lost both of my parents, Mr. Frodo.' Sam looked up and into Frodos' eyes.  
  
'What do you mean?'  
  
Sam stood by Frodo for the longest time, or so it seemed to him, wondering to stop where he was, or to confide in this hobbit that had seemed to be kind. Trust was a big issue for Sam now, but through all his thinking, Frodo had at times seemed genuinely concerned for him, doing all he could to cheer him up when he was feeling low, which seemed to be every day lately.  
  
'Sam?'  
  
Sam decided then that he would trust Frodo, to tell him what was troubling him. Maybe he would be disgusted, but then Sam would know that Frodo was like everyone else. Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt, hesitating at each button. His hands shook and his fingers trembled, and it seemed like an eternity before he finally managed to unfasten his shirt.  
  
'What are you doing Sam?' Frodo asked, his eyes widening as Sam began to take off his shirt in front of him. Feelings rose in him that he felt uncomfortable having.  
  
'Showin' you sir. Showin' you what he would do.' He slipped the shirt off completely, and Frodo stifled the gasp he felt rising as Sams' bronzed, muscular torso revealed itself. Slowly Sam turned his back to Frodo and this time Frodo did not stifle the gasp.  
  
Lines of deep red were etched across the formerly flawless skin of his friend. Some slashes were short, ranging from a handspan to two, and others were long, running from the top of his shoulder to his hip. They were healing quickly, and would soon be a faded memory, like some of the scars that he could glimpse in between the welts.  
  
Frodo gripped onto the table to steady himself. If he had felt the rumblings of want deep inside him, they had soon disappeared to be replaced by sickening grief.  
  
'Sam...' He started, but he couldn't say what he wanted, the words wouldn't come. Slowly Sams' head turned to the side, clutching the shirt to his chest, feeling vulnerable on display.  
  
'Why did you let him do this?' Sam turned around fully now, his face pale, and eyes clear.  
  
'He said I needed it, needed to learn my lesson.'  
  
'For what?' Frodo asked, incredulous. 'What crime could you have committed that would warrant such extreme punishment?'  
  
Sam straightened and dropped his gaze, turning away to put his shirt back on.  
  
'I will speak no more of it. My father had his reasons for his discipline I am sure of it. He would not hurt me with no reason!'  
  
'Sam, listen to yourself!' Frodo left the support of the table and walked over to Sam. 'What he did to you was not discipline! This is torture, and it's not the first time its happened!'  
  
Sam looked up suddenly. 'How do you know that? He doesn't do this regularly!'  
  
'There are scars Sam...' Frodo told him, his voice quiet and soft.  
  
'Scars...' echoed Sam. He hadn't known his back still contained reminders of his treatment, as he could not see his back.  
  
'Sam...Your father is abusing you...'  
  
'No!' Sam cried. 'He don't mean it! He don't mean to be so hard. Mama's passing, it took him away, like a part of him died with her.'  
  
'That doesn't excuse what he's - '  
  
'They say I'm just like her, you know. That she lives in me. I can't see it, but I think da does, that's why. It's hard for him.'  
  
'Sam, please!' Frodo cried, his voice forceful. Sam stopped talking, stunned by Frodo's changed. 'I think it's time you stopped making excuses for him!'  
  
'I'm not!'  
  
'He treats you, as one would treat someone he hates Sam.'  
  
'NO!' Sam cried, turning away from him and holding his hands over his ears, and Frodo was suddenly aware of Sam's age once more. He walked towards him, taking his hands in his own and holding them tenderly.  
  
'Does he make you feel bad? Are you afraid of him, Sam?'  
  
'Afraid?' Frodo nodded. Sam looked down at his feet. 'Sometimes, when he comes home in a frightful fit, and he...' He pointed to his back, unable to speak it.  
  
'You're not safe with him! We have to talk to Bilbo, and tell him-  
  
'No! You can't tell anyone! Please, Mr. Frodo, I trusted you, don't betray me, please!' Sams' eyes were pleading, and tears were streaming down his cheeks.  
  
'I don't like the thought of you going home to him, and worrying about how badly you'll be beaten when you come into work the next morning. That bruise wasn't from Ted, was it?' Sam shook his head. 'I especially do not like the thought of him working in my garden, you cannot ask me to keep this from Bilbo, he must know! He would take you in, I'm sure of it, if I asked.'  
  
'I don't want to leave my father!' Sam declared, backing away from him. 'And if you tell anybody I will resign now, and will not speak to you again, Mr. Frodo.' Frodo sighed, Sam's stubbornness was not something he inherited from his mother; no, that came from his father.  
  
'He isn't evil sir, and his heart is not black. He is rash, but he regrets his actions. I know he does.'  
  
'Has he told you so?' Frodo asked, noting that Sam dropped his gaze.  
  
'Mr. Frodo, I've not made it a habit to ask my betters for anything, and I do not ask you anything now, rather I beg you, do not tell anyone. I have trusted you this much.'  
  
Frodo's heart bled at the sight of Sam, begging him for something he could not possibly do and feel good about, yet if he didn't, it seemed he would lose Sam forever, and Sam would lose his one friend.  
  
He sighed. 'I will not tell Bilbo.'  
  
Sam's eyes lit up, and he wiped the tears away, smiling up at Frodo.  
  
'Oh! Thank you sir!'  
  
'Yet.' Frodo added, his gaze stern, and Sams' face fell. 'If things get any worse Sam, I shall be bound to confide in my cousin, for your well being. For now though, if you feel up to it, I shall need your help in the study, and then, if you feel down, I will read you a story, from the Elves.'  
  
Sam beamed, and nodded. 'Where do I start?' 


	4. Chapter 4

His father sat down in the old armchair with a sigh, and laid back to rest.  
  
He turned back to the tray before him and lifted the teapot to pour the steaming liquid into the cups. Ever so carefully; mustn't spill a drop.  
  
'You should be glad I didn't make you work in the garden today lad,' his father said, in a voice that was full of weariness. 'I'd 'ave been glad of the help mind you, I am old, but your back wouldn' ave' taken it.'  
  
His eyes never left the cups, making sure that not a drop was wasted, and each cup was filled appropriately. He gave all his concentration to the tray in front of him, but saved some for his father and listened dutifully.  
  
'I stopped in to have a word with Mr. Frodo during your break...'  
  
He lifted the worn silver spoon from its place on the tray and set it into the cup. He started turning it around in the hot liquid, starting to count.  
  
'He seemed out of sorts, I'd deem, acted off-hand like to me, like I'd done somet'in' wrong.'  
  
Hand shook and metal clinked against cracked and chipped porcelain, worn down through long year's use. He swallowed and breathed, and resumed stirring.  
  
'I'd say he was acting a bit queer, like one of his Brandybuck cousins he homed up with before he came to the row. Not at all like dear Mr. Bilbo!'  
  
'He seems to be nice enough sir. He may well have been out of sorts, and felt sad today.' He finally replied, taking care to be courteous and respectful.  
  
'Well people can seem to be all kinds of things lad, just you be careful how close you get to him. Folks like him often pretend to care about you, when really all they want is a job done.' His father gave him a probing stare. 'You mind how you go tomorrow when his cousins come to stay.'  
  
He finished stirring and added milk to his own cup. His father didn't take milk. Carefully he took his fathers' cup and carried it steadily over to where his father sat.  
  
His father took the cup gingerly, gauging the temperature by the heat he felt through the porcelain, and took a sip. After what seemed like an eternity his father sat the tea out with a face of disgust that was quickly changing to anger.  
  
'Ninnyhammer! By the lands what did I ever do to get landed with a dolt like you?' Can't even make a simple cup of tea right!'  
  
Golden eyes full of confusion gazed down at his father, great incomprehension displayed on his face.  
  
'What? But I did everything! I stirred it right, and I didn't add milk...'  
  
'Did you remember the canemill?'  
  
Eyes widened and looked back to the tray, staring at the sugar jar that sat there, unopened.  
  
He heard the crash before he felt it. Turning back to his father he saw that his hands were empty.  
  
Porcelain shattered, flying everywhere and a few pieces found their way into his legs, biting through the thin cloth of his breeches and eating into his skin. Then the rising brown liquid splashed against the floor and came rising up like a fountain against ankles and shins, soaking through his breeches and scalding his flesh. He bit back his cry and crouched down to pick up the broken pieces of the cup.  
  
'Is it really too much for a wearied father to come home from a hard days' work and expect a nice cup of tea waitin' for him?' He shook his head in reply.  
  
His father struck him then in the only place exposed to him.  
  
His back.  
  
Flames licked and danced their way across his back and he could not bite back his cry this time. He threw his head back and roared with agony.  
  
'If you make any mistakes on dinner tonight, you'll get much worse than that! Now finish cleaning this mess up and keep out of sight for a while!'  
  
He finished picking up the remains of the mug and took them out into the kitchen where the bin sat. He then picked up a rag laying on the tabletop and went back into the room. His fathers' eyes were closed and his breathing was easy, but he could tell from the silence of his snores that his father had not yet dozed off yet. Silently he mopped up the spill, and set the cloth on the tray and carried it away into the kitchen.  
  
He emptied out the remainder of the teapot, and of his cup, not feeling like drinking it now. He washed and dried up, tidying all the items away in their cupboards and drawers.  
  
He sat down at the table and sighed, thinking of what to cook for dinner tonight. The Gamgees' were poor, and could never afford any of the more appetising foods, so he was always forced to make the simplest of foods pleasant for his father and himself.  
  
Earlier that month he had asked to cook lunch for Frodo and he had accepted. He had been a little lost in their larder, seeing so many wonderful ingredients that he had not seen, but heard about, and he was a little nervous about cooking something he had never attempted before, but the look on Frodos' face as he too his first bite made it all worthwhile.  
  
Aware of a throbbing pain in his legs he looked down to see that his breeches had become bloodstained. He sighed and walked out to the bathroom, where he set about removing the shards and bathing his wounds.  
  
As he tended to his wounds, the words of his father flooded through his mind. 'Folks like him often pretend to care about you when they want a job done.' After he had confided in Frodo, Frodo had got him to tidy the study, and then the front room, and to take down the curtains for washing. Had he just wanted a job to done? 'You mind how you go tomorrow when his cousins come to stay.' He sighed. Meriadoc was just two years younger than he was, and most likely more carefree, but he was more worried about young Peregrin Took, aged just 10. It seemed likely that the job would fall to him to mind the lad and make sure that Pippin didn't stray to far. The thought did not exactly bring joy to his heart.  
  
He felt bruised all over, and now his legs were sore as well as his back. At his age he should be full of energy, more than ready to indulge Pippin in a game or two, but he had none, save for when he was in front of an oven.  
  
Looking up he watched his reflection in the mirror. His brown eyes were sad, and dull, with bags underneath, barely noticeable. The bruise under his right eye had almost healed, and the cut had now disappeared, leaving a brown scab. His hair lay in weak curls about his face, and around his neck; the bright golden highlights seeming out of place on his simple head.  
  
He blinked, staring hard into the glass. For the briefest of moments he thought he could see the beautiful vision of his mother staring back at him, but like the flicker of an image in the flame, it had gone.  
  
He missed his mother terribly. Things had been so good when she was there. His father was pleasant mostly; if not a little irritable sometimes but he was never this bad. His brothers and sisters' all lived in the smial with him, now his brothers' had all moved out and found jobs, and his sisters stayed with his aunt, and Rosie...  
  
Rosie.  
  
He allowed himself the smallest of smiles as he thought about the fair- haired beauty that he had seen the other week down at the market. As a lad of 12 he would often play with the lass, and with her brothers down at the lake. But when his mother had passed his father forbade his weekly hour of fun, and so Sam had not seen Rosie since.  
  
Until last week. In the year since he had last seen her, the lass of 13 had grown taller, and filled out in all the right places, looking every bit the stunning beauty she ought to be. Her eyes sparkled like the running streams, and her hair was golden like the finest honey.  
  
His smile faded as he stared at his own reflection. Something as beautiful as Rosie had no business as hanging about a simple gardener, with simple looks and mind to match, so he didn't ought to entertain any such thoughts.  
  
Those, being the words of his Gaffer, and Sam, in his broken self-esteem and melancholy, believed him. 


	5. Chapter 5

Dinner and supper last night had been eaten in silence; save for the occasional polite requests to pass the salt, or the butter. Breakfast looked to be the same, and Samwise barely looked at his father, choosing instead to be fascinated with the food on his plate. If there was one thing his father very rarely complained about, it was Sams' cooking, and today's offering was one of his favourites. A nice, big fry-up. Not too big, as there were just the two of them, but a healthy meal nonetheless. Sam didn't really feel up to eating such a large breakfast, but he knew he'd get a scolding if he wasted good food, so he tucked in anyway.  
  
Sausages, fried eggs, fried toast, tomatoes, mushrooms even bacon. With two incomes in the household now, it was easy to afford such food, and it didn't go unappreciated either.  
  
'This is good Sam!' the Gaffer admitted, tucking into a bit of fried toast with mushrooms and tomatoes heaped on.  
  
'Thank you sir!' he replied, finishing off his breakfast and sipping his tea. 'Will you be needing me in the garden today?'  
  
'I'll be needin' you, no doubt, but your services are required elsewhere. Mr. Frodo's cousins are arrivin' today, and you're to see that they are settled in alright.'  
  
Sam closed his eyes and played with his fork. He really wished he could curl up in bed all day and not have to go through with today. He had never met Frodo's cousins, but he had heard much about them, and too much for his liking.  
  
'I see.'  
  
'Speakin' of which.' the Gaffer looked at the clock and finished off his meal. 'Wash up these dishes quick boy, time we were on our way!'  
  
*  
  
'Eru! What happened to you?'  
  
This had to be the worst day of his life. Well, probably not the worse but it was bad enough. He was stood in the middle of the front room, with Frodo, Bilbo, and his two cousins staring at him.  
  
'He got into a fight, Merry.' Samwise looked gratefully at Frodo, who turned away from his glance to look at his cousin.  
  
'Some fight! That looks like it was a nasty bruise!' Merry continued to gape at the fading bruise beneath Sam's right eye, and Sam shifted from foot to foot uneasily. From behind them Bilbo coughed.  
  
'Fascinating as this is, the day is getting later. Perhaps we could get some of your bags into your rooms, Merry and Pippin?'  
  
'Did it hurt?'  
  
It hurt, and yet the pain he felt from the blow didn't hurt him that much. He had suffered worse before. No it was the pain caused to his heart that hurt so much. The hand that the blow belonged to, that's what made him feel like he was being ripped apart.  
  
'Merry!' Frodo cried, tugging on his arm, 'that's enough! Come on, your rooms' right next to mine.' Reluctantly Merry finally tore his eyes away from Sam, long enough to pick up his bags and follow Frodo, and Bilbo made to follow them.  
  
'Samwise, you know where Pippin's room is don't you? If you could be so kind as to show him where it is, and get him settled,' and he was off, disappearing down the hall behind Frodo and Merry.  
  
He realised he was left along with the child besides him. He turned to face Pippin, and was startled to see that the lad was watching him, eyes wide with fear.  
  
'What's wrong Pip?' The lad didn't reply, still gaping. 'There's no need to be scared o'me, I'm here to help you!'  
  
'Daddy said that fighting wasn't right, he said that violence was bad, and wasn't the answer to problems.' Pippin's voice was quiet, and timid. Sam sighed and knelt down. He felt bad enough lying to Frodo the first time, but somehow lying to an innocent 10-year-old seemed all the more worse. He knelt down so he was eye level and smiled as best he could.  
  
'Your daddy was right Pippin, but sometimes.' he stopped, not sure what to say next, 'sometimes, you can't do anything to stop it, sometimes it's out of your control.' He looked in to Pippin's wide green eyes for some sign of understanding. 'I'm not a violent person you see, wouldn't hurt a fly me, I'd rescue a bird if I saw her wing was broken, and I wouldn't kill no creature, be it great or small, it's not in me you see?'  
  
Pippin nodded, still looking confused. 'But you still got into a fight though, didn't you?'  
  
'Yes' said Sam, nodding his head, 'but I weren't the one who started it. See, folk like Ted Sandyman, they think they have the right to say whatever they want, about who ever they fancy, not caring if what they say is false, or might hurt someone's feelings. It was a matter of defending Mr. Frodo's honour, I didn't want to fix things with fists and fury, and I just had a quiet word with him aside, telling him not to go sayin' things about your cousin that ain't true! He didn't take kindly to that, that's why I ended up with this, see?' He pointed to his cheek.  
  
'I think I understand Samwise.'  
  
'Pah!' Samwise grinned, ruffling his hair. 'Call me Sam.' He stood up slowly, and picked up Pippin's bags. 'Let's get you to your room, eh?'  
  
*  
  
Pippin had insisted that he was old enough and responsible enough to carry one of his own bags, and Sam, after his persistent requests relented, and gave him the smallest and lightest bag there was, and asked him to follow him.  
  
When they had entered Pippin's room, Sam busied himself trying to get him settled in whilst Pippin sat on the bed, looking around the room.  
  
"It's so plain," the young lad said, wrinkling his nose.  
  
"Plain?" Sam looked up and studied the room, specially catered for Pippin. "This is a splendid room young sir, held with you in mind, and they must hold you in high regard for I ain't never seen a room as grand."  
  
"Where I live there are rooms much larger than this, with the finest bed- spreads in the Shire, and a window as big as that door!" Pippin informed, sitting very straight and prim on the bed. Sam disliked the boy at that given moment, thinking him spoilt rotten. He ignored the pang of jealousy that ate away at him.  
  
"Well there's nothing keeping you here!" he snapped, shutting the lid of his case a little too loudly. "Mr. Bilbo's worked hard to make this room comfortable for your stay, and it's ungrateful of you to turn your nose up at it! There's lots in the Shire that have to make do with rooms far less comfortable, like me!"  
  
Pippin stared up at Sam with wide green eyes, brimming with tears and Sam looked down, at a loss. "I'm sorry Master Pippin, I didn't mean to snap at you like that."  
  
"All right Thumper?" Merry stuck his head around the door and grinned at Sam.  
  
"Merry! Stop that!" Frodo's voice sounded from behind as he shoved Merry out of the room and stepped into the room. "Is everything alright Sam? Pippin settled in okay?" Sam nodded and Frodo smiled. "Not everyone is as organised as Paladin Took, and cannot be trusted to pack their own bags." Frodo turned to Merry and grinned. "He has forgotten some items. We're about to head off down to the market and buy some clothes for him as none of mine will fit. Can you look after Pippin for an hour or two?"  
  
So there it was. What his father had warned him about and what he had been dreading since the news of their arrival. He looked to Pippin, who now sat with an infallible grin on his face.  
  
"Of course sir." He replied, monotonously.  
  
"He can be a bit of a devil sometimes Sam, but there's no need to beat him up or anything!" Merry grinned at Sam, and winked at Pippin before heading out of the room, followed by Frodo.  
  
Sam sighed, wishing he was shut away at home, or out in the garden with his father right now. He turned to Pippin and saw that the child's face was pale, and his eyes wide with an evident fear.  
  
"Oh! No, I wouldn't-" Sam paused, unable to string a sentence together. "Mr. Merry's pulling your leg is all." Pippin didn't look convinced in the slightest and drew his knees up to his chest, hugging them with his arms. "Remember what I said earlier? About the flies and the birds? I only want to make flowers bloom, and vegetables grow! I have no wish to hurt you!"  
  
As quickly as Pippin had grown afraid, his boundless energy returned and his green eyes sparkled at Sam. "You're a gardener here?"  
  
Sam nodded. "Aye that I am, or at least I'm training to be. The Gaffer is the gardener on the Hill, and I'm his apprentice. One day I might take over his role, and become the gardener on the Hill." 'And ponies might fly' he added to himself.  
  
"I want to see!" Pippin cried jumping off of the bed and running over to Sam, tugging on his clothes and bouncing on the spot. "Can I see the garden?"  
  
Sam looked at Pippin and smiled. Any lad that seemed interested in a garden seemed a decent lad to him. "Of course you can! I reckon we're as done here as we can be, come! Take my hand, Master Pippin!" With Pippin on his hand he led the child out of the smial and into the garden, scanning across the land to see where his father was working. He was away in the tater patch, rescuing what crop they had left. Pippin besides him had grown silent. His hand left Sam's and he stepped forward, looking all around at the garden before him.  
  
"I know, not like back at home eh, Master Pippin? You've got a garden the size of Bywater, I reckon."  
  
"We do." Pippin replied, turning his head to look at the hanging baskets and window boxes outside of Bilbo's study. "But they aren't as pretty as this one. You did this?"  
  
"The Gaffer did most of the work, Master Pippin, I just help him out where I can."  
  
"It's so pretty!"  
  
"Well why don't you tell my Gaffer that? Hi! Dad! There's someone here who wants to meet you sir!"  
  
"What is it boy? Can't you see I'm busy?" Hamfast's gruff voice replied, looking up from the potato roots at Sam.  
  
"It's Master Peregrin Took! He wishes to pay you his compliments."  
  
"Does he indeed?" Hamfast stood up and brushed off his knees, crossing the garden to where they stood.  
  
"I've never seen a garden so fair, Mr. Gaffer." Pippin said, bowing his head slightly.  
  
"Didn't this dolt even pay me the courtesy of tellin' you my own name?" Hamfast glared at Sam, who ducked his head to avoid that very gaze. "Hamfast sir, at your service! There's no needin' to bow to me, it's I who should be bowin' to you, but with my old back, I fear I wouldn't get back up again. So my pardon, Master Peregrin, your praise is an honour." He knelt down on his knees and cupped Pippin by the chin with his old hand. "Why you must be the son of Paladin Took, or I'm no Gamgee!" Pippin nodded, and Hamfast smiled warmly, looking into his eyes.  
  
Sam stood transfixed. There was the father he used to know, that was the man he loved. He smiled to himself, looking into his father's weary brown eyes.  
  
"I thought as much! Why, you've definitely got your father's face. A decent man is your father, and I'd wager you will be as great as him, if not greater." Pippin grinned happily. "Now then, I must get back to work, beggin' your pardon, but Sam will look after you, or at least try. Never lacks for trying, my Sam." He looked up to see Sam's smiling face, and saw something he didn't want to be reminded of. His own warm smile disappeared, being replaced by his familiar scowl. "Even if he does make a mess of things, more often than not. Keep an eye on him Sam; make sure he's happy. Where's Mr. Frodo, and Mr. Meriadoc got to?"  
  
"To the market, sir." Sam's heart felt heavy with sorrow when he saw that it was not true. His father would never come back to him, but he still held on to hope. One day, he would remember.  
  
"To the market." Hamfast echoed, smiling once again, and ruffling Pippin's hair. "Well be off with you too, and find some way to amuse yourselves 'til their return!" With one last glare at Sam, Hamfast walked back to the tater patch, and knelt down on the ground, returning to work.  
  
"Well then Master Pippin," Sam said after a heavy silence, and a clearing of his throat. "What do you want to do now?"  
  
Pippin's green eyes twinkled in the sunlight as he turned to face Sam, and he grinned, his boundless energy coming back.  
  
*  
  
"I'm coming now!" Sam opened his eyes and looked around the kitchen. The chairs around the table were untouched, and there was no sign of life hiding under the table. He checked the larder cupboard; nobody there. "Well I guess you're not in here then!"  
  
He stepped out of the kitchen into the hall, and looked around. All of the doors were shut apart from one, left slightly ajar. He smiled to himself and walked slowly down the hallway, keeping his footsteps silent. Reaching the door he opened it slowly, taking care not to make it creak and stepped inside. Almost instantly he heard muffled giggling, abruptly stopping. Slowly he walked over to the bed and stood there, looking around. "What'll Mr. Frodo and Mr. Merry say when I've told them I've lost their cousin. They'll have my hide if I don't find him. Oh where can he be?"  
  
He heard it again. That muffled giggling, only it was fainter this time, as it he was biting down on something to keep quiet. Sam grinned to himself and crouched down. He reached under his bed with his arm and grabbed hold of Pippin's ankle, sliding him out with a roar.  
  
"Found you!" Pippin shrieked with laughter as Sam picked him up and hung him upside down across his back.  
  
"Put me down!" He cried, pounding playfully on his back.  
  
Sam felt obliged as his back felt sore and Pippin's beatings did not help, however light they were. He laid him down upon his bed, and started tickling him.  
  
Pippin shrieked with laughter again and squirmed, trying to free himself. "No! Stop!"  
  
Sam smiled. He had not been looking forward to this at all, but Pippin had proved a breath of fresh air, and he felt renewed around his childish energy, being granted the opportunity to be a child once more.  
  
"Pippin?"  
  
Pippin stopped laughing as he looked to the door. "Merry's back!" He rolled away from Sam and ran out of the room. Sam sighed; feeling alone once more as Pippin ran to rejoin his beloved cousin. Slowly he stood up and stretched, testing out his back.  
  
When he joined the other three in the hallway, Pippin was bouncing in front of Merry.  
  
"Did you get me anything?" He asked, tugging on Merry's jacket.  
  
"Now Pippin! We didn't go for you! We went because I needed clothes to wear." Merry replied, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the hook besides the door. Pippin's face fell, and he looked hurt. "Well maybe I did get a little something for my favourite cousin!" He pulled out a large, round red apple and tossed it to Pippin who caught it, eyes wide and grinning.  
  
"Hey!" exclaimed Frodo, poking out his bottom lip with mock hurt. Merry simply poked his tongue out.  
  
"Thank you Merry!" Pippin cried, wrapping his arms around Merry's waist.  
  
"You're very welcome, Pip!" He smoothed Pippin's hair affectionately. "So, who's cooking lunch?" Merry asked, turning to Frodo.  
  
"Well usually Sam does the cooking, when he has time." Frodo replied, turning to Sam and smiling encouragingly at him. Merry, however did not smile, but rather looked at him with disapproval.  
  
"Him? But he's a gardener's apprentice! What does he know about cooking?"  
  
Sam's dislike for the Brandybuck grew stronger with every word he spoke. Nevertheless he stood still, and made no expression.  
  
"Sam's an excellent cook, and we've had no complaints!" Sam remained grateful for Frodo's compliments, but he was not soothed.  
  
"Come now Frodo! He's barely older than me, and probably hasn't had as many lessons as I have. I will cook lunch for you, and I will cook up a treat!" He grinned smugly at Sam, who remained blank, even though he was raging inside.  
  
"Alright, Merry. If you will insist, although I will make you try Sam's cooking sometime, so you can eat your words."  
  
"I very much doubt it! Come on Pippin! You can lend me a hand!" Merry led Pippin down the hall and into the kitchen, and Sam allowed a scowl to find it's way upon his face.  
  
"Don't pay any attention to him Sam. He doesn't mean it. He's the son of the Master of Buckland, they have a completely different way of living!" Sam looked at Frodo, and felt claustrophobic in the hole.  
  
"Save your words sir. If you won't be needing me to cook lunch, I'll go and help my Gaffer in the garden!"  
  
"You would help him? After what he did to you, after what he has done to you, and will continue to? Why, Sam? What madness have you that you would suffer yourself upon him?"  
  
"He's my father, Mr. Frodo!" Sam replied, turning red. "And I must remain loyal to him."  
  
"He does not care for you Sam! You must see that! All these hurts and pains.they're not love. Your skin should not be marred by those who claim to love you."  
  
"Be that as it may, I will not leave him! Nor would I let anyone take him away from me. He is my father, and I love him, even if he don't love me. Maybe you've forgotten what it's like to have a father Mr. Frodo, but I won't let you not anybody take him away from me!" Sam yelled and pushed past Frodo and out of the smial.  
  
Once he was outside, and leaning upon the green, wooden doors, he allowed the tears to fall, safe in the knowledge that no one was watching. 


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Well I thought I'd better start replying to some of my feedback. It's always wonderful to hear from people I haven't begged to read this, so here we go.  
  
TVader14: Poor Sam indeed, and if you think I'm doing this because I like to see Sam suffer, I'm not. Sam is most definitely, without a doubt my favourite too, and I was interested one day to find out how he came to be such a loyal, and devoted friend to Frodo, and yet a brave, and strong fighter as proved in the Return of the King. I'm no psychologist, but the idea of this is to show that transformation from his childhood to his adulthood. We can only wait and see how it turns out! Please keep reading, and submitting your opinions!  
  
Althea: I really meant to reply to you sooner, but I never got round to it. I'm too lazy I suppose. Well, I still want to thank you for reading, and reviewing after every chapter. I'm glad you thought Pippin's characterisation was true to life, as I was agonising for a long time over how a 10-year-old Pippin would act. Do not fear for Merry's sake, he will be redeemed at some point.  
  
IloveSam: I'm pleased you like the way I write! I hope I keep this an interesting story so that you and the rest will keep reading! Yes, Hamfast doesn't deserve Sam's defense, but at the moment Sam doesn't feel like he has anybody else in his life, so he can't bear to be parted from him, no matter how badly he is treated.  
  
A few notes. Solmath = February, and this chapter will alternate from the view points of certain hobbits when previously this story has been told from Sam's point of view.  
  
**  
  
It had been hard for Sam the rest of that day. He evaded questioning from his father as best as he could, claiming that Frodo had dismissed him from his service; and that he was free to work for his dad in the garden. Hamfast had no objections to an extra pair of hands and he soon put his son to work.  
  
Not more than an hour had passed when the front door of Bag End opened and out stepped Frodo carrying a tray. There sat two cups, filled almost to the brim with steaming tea. It was a cold, Solmath afternoon, and the warmth would be welcome.  
  
"My good gentlemen!" Frodo called cheerfully. "You have both worked very hard on this bitterly cold day. Will you accept hot tea?"  
  
The Gaffer wiped his forehead with a gloved hand, and accepted his cup gratefully. "Ah" he sighed. "That's a lovely cup of tea, Mr., Frodo." Sam glanced at his father feeling extremely small and insignificant in his eyes. At the memory of his last attempt at tea, he felt a twinge in his ankle, and then his shins and he knew the bandages needed changing.  
  
"Sam?"  
  
Sam looked up at Frodo for the briefest of moments before turning back to the pile of cut grass on the ground. "I'm not thirsty" said Sam, digging his shovel into the grass and carrying it over to the compost heap at the far side of the garden.  
  
"Now Sam," the Gaffer said when Sam had returned from the heap, trying to hide the limp in his stride, " I thought I raised you with more manners than that. Accept your future master's generosity with gratitude!"  
  
Sam looked at his father shamefully and he lifted his cup from the tray. He gave his thanks to Frodo whilst avoiding his gaze.  
  
When he took a sip, he realised that it was indeed a lovely cup of tea, and spread warmth through him that was needed. He raised his eyes to meet Frodo's and thanked him with sincerity. Frodo simply nodded, offering a small, apologetic smile as he turned around and headed back into the smial.  
  
*  
  
Frodo sighed as he leant back against the door. Sam would not open up to him, or talk to him, even after his repeated gestures of kindness. He honestly couldn't tell whether Sam wanted him as a friend. All of his efforts so far had gone unappreciated, and every time Frodo tried to get close to the young boy he would clam up, and would say no word to Frodo.  
  
He set the tray down on the chest by the door, making a note to himself to take it into the kitchen later on and set off down the hall. The sounds of laughter came from Merry's room, and he knew that he had Pippin in there and that they were playing a game of sorts.  
  
At the end of the hall, the door to Bilbo's study was open, and he could hear his uncle muttering to himself. He strided down and knocked on the door.  
  
"Blast, now where did I put that thing?" He looked up at the door and smiled at Frodo before inviting him in. "Come on lad, what's the matter with you then?"  
  
Frodo sighed and sat down on Bilbo's chair whilst the older hobbit searched the room for something. Frodo took in a deep breath and sighed, thinking about what to say.  
  
"Bilbo." Frodo looked up at his uncle, who was bustling about the study, "How long has Sam been working with the Gaffer?"  
  
"What?" Bilbo looked up distractedly before he processed what had been said. "Oh, I should think about.two years now? .Yes two years. Shortly before his mother died wasn't it? Yes, two years." He went over to his desk and sorted through the various maps and sheets of parchment scattered upon it.  
  
"And what do you think of him? After two years of service?" Frodo asked, playing with an ornate stone that Bilbo used as a paperweight from time to time.  
  
"Who's that, lad?" Bilbo asked, looking back at him distractedly.  
  
"Sam, uncle."  
  
"Oh yes, Samwise!" He finished rifling through the papers and looked around the room for other places it could be lost in. "Nice enough lad, polite, and he cooks up the most loveliest meals sometimes. Always wants to help, even if there's nothing to be done." He spied the bin on the floor besides his desk and crouched down. "Yet odd, I feel" Bilbo turned his head to look back at Frodo, who wore a bemused expression on his pale face.  
  
Frodo was well aware of Bilbo's reputation among the Shire, and he was often considered to be 'odd' or 'Mad Baggins' as they called him. He also knew that Bilbo was aware of this, and he made no mention as to whether this amused him or troubled him. Still for him to go around calling anybody else odd, was somewhat odd in itself.  
  
"What do you mean, Bilbo?"  
  
Bilbo had finished rifling through his bin as well with no success. He stood up and walked over to Frodo. "He's almost too polite." Bilbo explained. "He's a young lad, of what? 18 years?"  
  
"19 Uncle, and it's his birthday in Astron." Frodo's eyes watered as he remembered that Bell had died a week before Sam's 19th birthday. There had been a part organised in the Green Dragon, and all Sam's friends and family had turned up, including Frodo but Sam did not show.  
  
"19" Bilbo repeated, "A lad of his age should be up and about like our own Meriadoc. He's always so sad, and behind his eyes there is years worth of pain in there. Eager to work too, now you have to admit that at his age, work should be the last thing in his mind."  
  
"I don't think he has a choice," Frodo spoke quietly, mostly to himself, "and it's a distraction from his life."  
  
Bilbo heard these words and passed them off, knowing Frodo kept his troubles almost as well as he, himself did. Bilbo was a little better at hiding it than his younger cousin.  
  
"It must be terrible for him, to lose his mother like that. For someone so young as well!"  
  
"I was 12." Frodo looked up at Bilbo, tired of everyone admiring Sam for coping with the death of his mother so well. "And I recall losing my father as well."  
  
Bilbo sighed and walked over to him, putting his hand encouragingly on his shoulder. "I know Frodo, I know, and you coped extremely well! Your mother's family took you in and took care of you, raised you. You made friends there, including a very young and very mischievous Merry.  
  
Frodo smiled at the memory of his cousin, when he was much younger then Pippin.  
  
"Sam's alone in the world" continued Bilbo, "I don't know what Sam does in his spare time but it's clear to me he doesn't go out with any folk he can call his friends, I've never seen him with anyone but his dad. Tell me Frodo, how many brothers and sisters does he have?"  
  
Frodo sat in thought for a while. He had seen the Gaffer's eldest son, Hamson helping his dad out a few times when he had first arrived at Bag End, and the youngest girl, Marigold had helped her mother cook up a feast for Bilbo as a personal favour.  
  
"Two, that I know of uncle, a brother and a sister."  
  
"He has two brothers and three sisters." His cousin explained. "A large family, by hobbit standards."  
  
"Where are they?" Frodo asked. "Why haven't I seen them?"  
  
"The Gaffer, as well you know has very strong views on his class and ours, and has high respect for that, no matter how outdated his views may be. He kept his family out of mind and out of sight, maintaining a purely professional relationship. When Bell died, I suppose he couldn't cope with bringing six children up on his own. He sent his eldest sons to work in Tighfield and the North Farthing, and his daughters to stay with their Aunt May, in Tighfield as well. He would've sent Sam away if nobody thought he was too young to take on as an apprentice."  
  
"So Samwise lives alone with Hamfast?"  
  
"Yes, he does."  
  
Frodo said no more and sat for a while, in silent thought.  
  
"There you are!" Merry's head poked into the room. "Come on Frodo! Pippin wants to go exploring and you're our guide!" Pippin bounded into the room and ran over to Frodo, tugging his hand.  
  
"Please? Please can we go Frodo?" Frodo smiled down at the boy, unwilling to disappoint him.  
  
"Of course we can!" Frodo couldn't help but laugh as he was dragged out of the room. Bilbo looked around the room once more.  
  
"Blast, where did I leave It?"  
  
*  
  
"What would you like me to do now sir?"  
  
Hamfast looked up from the flowerbed that needed weeding before they replanted the bulbs next month, and surveyed the garden around him. "Nice work lad! You've done what I asked you to. There's naught left to do out here. Tell you what son, you go on in and ask if Mr. Bilbo or Mr. Frodo need you. If not, you can go on home for the rest of the day!"  
  
Sam smiled up at his dad, even though he had no desire to go home to that empty smial on Bag Shot Row. He hoped with all his heart that Bilbo would find some use for him.  
  
"Thank you sir" was his reply, pretending he was grateful for his father's kindness, even though it would bring him loneliness and sadness.  
  
"Well go on then! See if Mr. Bilbo can find a use for you!" Sam nodded and walked away, heading towards the smial.  
  
He walked inside and found a tray just inside on the chest. He perked up, already there was a job needed to be done. He took the tray and the empty cups into the kitchen and washed them, before putting them away in their rightful places. He looked around the kitchen for another job needing to be done and found nothing. He sighed and went off in search of Bilbo or Frodo.  
  
Deep in the corners of his mind, he thought he heard the front door close, but he shook it off, thinking he imagined it and walked down the hall. The door to Bilbo's study was open, and the elder hobbit was standing in the doorway, looking altogether like he were somewhere else.  
  
"Mr. Bilbo?"  
  
Bilbo jumped, startled out of his wits. He calmed down when he laid eyes on Sam. "Oh! It's you Samlad."  
  
"I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to startle you."  
  
"Oh nonsense lad! I was just deep in thought that's all. Trying to remember something."  
  
"Anything I can help you with, sir?" Sam looked hopeful.  
  
"Oh no lad, just my forgetfulness is all. No, you run along now, I shall be quite busy in here this afternoon."  
  
"Are you sure there's nothing for me to do, sir? No cleaning, cooking, can I make you some tea?" Bilbo laughed and ruffled Sam's sandy curls, not yet highlighted by the coming sun.  
  
"No, there's nothing. Frodo's gone out with his cousins to explore. It's a shame you didn't come in sooner, you could've gone with them and helped look after Pippin."  
  
Sam's face fell, as did his spirits. "So there's nothing to do?"  
  
"Nothing at all Sam. You just run along."  
  
Sam nodded, feeling low. He would have to walk down the hill to his home, his empty home.  
  
"All right then sir, good day!" He turned around and walked out of his smial, saying a final goodbye to his father, after asking if there was anything else needed doing. When he was answered in the negative, he finally left the hill and made his way to number 3, Bagshot row. 


	7. Chapter 7

~Author's note: I am so sorry it's taken me so long to update, but it's here not. It's my birthday today, so think of it as my gift to you.~  
  
Sam closed the round door at the entrance to his home and looked around the hallway. His parents couldn't afford a large smial, but now it was empty, it seemed so much bigger and emptier than it was. He sighed and wandered from room to room, looking for something to do. He dusted the mantelpiece, plain and bare save for the small portrait of his father and his mother on their wedding day. All of the other portraits had been taken down and stored away. His two elder brothers sat on each end, though Sam and his sisters had been confined to the chest where their other possessions were kept.  
  
He gave the windows in the kitchen and in his father's bedroom a quick wash, even though they were clean before.  
  
When he could do no more, he retreated to his room, and knelt down on the floor besides his bed. Reaching underneath, he pulled out an old and tattered book, wrapped in cloth. He had seen it in the market square one day, and he knew he had to have it. He asked the bookseller if he could put it aside for him, and for the next few months he saved up his wages for it.  
  
Walking out into the kitchen he sat down at the table and laid the book in front of him, but he didn't open it. Instead he traced the simple drawing on the cover of the book with his fingers. It was a daisy, etched onto the worn away leather of the cover, and on the spine, under some writing he didn't understand, was another engraving; this time of a rose.  
  
He carefully opened up the book to its first page. He saw a large line of something he didn't recognize followed by a smaller line, then at the bottom of the page there was a large drawing of a bed of chrysanthemums. As he flicked through the book, he came across even more drawings, some of plants, some of common weeds and others of common vegetables, grown in a garden. It was clear to him that the book was about gardening, but he couldn't read a word of it.  
  
His eye caught sight of tiny script under another picture of a rose. It was short and nowhere near as long as the other lines in the book. He wondered if that was how 'rose' was written down on paper. It made no sense to him, and looked nothing like how it ought to. He went back through the book, looking for more of these scripts under the pictures, and sure enough all of the pictures had them. At first they all looked alike, but the more Sam stared at them, trying to figure them out, he noticed subtle differences in them.  
  
He leant back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. All of his looking and thinking had made his head ache.  
  
*  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
The raven-haired lad looked down at his cousin. "Yes, Pippin?"  
  
"I'm hungry."  
  
Frodo could not suppress his smile, and looked at Merry who shared his grin.  
  
"Well then I suppose we had best get back! I bet Sam's cooked something wonderful for our afternoon tea!"  
  
Merry clambered to his feet, leaning onto the tree for his cousins to stand up as well. "It's a shame we stayed out so late, or I could've cooked us up something lovely."  
  
"Now Merry!" Frodo scolded as he stood, helping Pippin up. "You shouldn't doubt Sam's cooking! As lovely as lunch was, it was far too filling. Two bites of your cooking, and the hungriest of hobbit is full for another hour. I could never tire of Sam's meals."  
  
Merry looked most put out, brushing off the dirt on the back of his breeches. "All the same! Some strange idea of servitude you have here at Bag End, when a gardener will do the cooking!"  
  
"Sam isn't the gardener! At least not yet, anyway. He does a lot of work around Bag End, more than anybody gives him credit for. Bilbo and myself would be quite lost without him. Give him a chance, won't you?"  
  
Merry made a funny noise in his throat and looked up at the sky. "The clouds are rolling over, and there's a chill in the wind. We should get back. Come on Pippin!" He held the younger hobbits hand in his and made his way down the lane, back to the hill. Frodo sighed and stood still, watching as his spoilt cousins made their way back to Bag End. Was he that spoilt? It seemed hard to believe now that he was staying at Bag End. Now that he had enjoyed afternoons playing with Sam when he was a young boy of Pippin's age. At last he made his way to follow his cousins back home.  
  
*  
  
Sam's head began to droop and he snapped awake, realizing he had nodded off to sleep. The book still lay open in front of him, but he had no time to think about that as he felt the throb of pain that he had felt earlier in his shins.  
  
He pushed his chair out from under the table and leaned down to look at the bandages. The dark cloth of his breeches was damp and he knew that he had left it to late. Moaning with disbelief he stood up, and limped back to his room to find a clean pair of breeches, and a old shirt to rip up for fresh bandages. He had already gone through his old shirts, and had to start on his eldest brother Hamson's shirts that he had left behind.  
  
He made his way out into the garden and over to the water pump. He didn't worry about being seen as their nearest neighbour was far away, and nobody called at their door. He shivered as he took off his breeches and set them on the ground away from the pump. The temperature had dropped, and his breath hung in the air. He unwrapped the blood-soaked rags from his shins and stood under the spout of the pump. The water seemed freezing, and he gasped as it hit his stinging legs and screwed his eyes up tight against the pain. When the dried blood had washed away and the cuts were cleaned he tore up the shirt and wrapped it around each leg, knotting it tight. Then he picked up the clean pair of breeches and put them on.  
  
He looked up at the sky. It had gotten dark in the short space of time he had been outside, and big black clouds loomed threateningly above him. He felt the first few drops of rain fall and frowned, bundling together the remains of the shirt, and his spoiled breeches. He would have to wash them another time, he thought to himself as he hurried back into the smial.  
  
*  
  
"Merry?"  
  
"What, Pippin?"  
  
"I'm cold."  
  
Meriadoc held his cousin close to him, trying to warm him up. "We all are Pippin. I've never known the weather to change so suddenly."  
  
"Well Hobbiton is not like Buckland, Merry" Frodo pointed out. "You can never rely on the weather."  
  
Merry looked up at the sky. "Are those rain clouds Frodo?"  
  
Frodo followed his gaze. "It wouldn't surprise me if they were. We'd better get inside somewhere quickly or we'll all catch a cold." He looked around. "We're not far from Bag Shot Row, and if the rain is setting in then the Gamgees' should be home by now. You can't do much gardening in the rain, and it's closer than home. Come on!" Frodo took off down the lane before Merry could protest, and Pippin ran after him. Sighing in defeat Merry followed them.  
  
*  
  
When he had dumped his clothes in his room, Sam went into the front room and knelt down besides the fireplace. Within minutes he had managed to light a flame and he stoked the fire until it spread, and warmed the room. His next job was to light the fire beneath the stove in the kitchen, to prepare a warm meal for his father when he came home.  
  
He reached the kitchen just as he heard a clap of thunder. The dark room was lit up by a flash of white light, and out of the window he could see the rain worsening. He lit the stove, and barely had time to think about what he was to cook when a knock sounded at the door.  
  
He frowned, and worry gripped him. His father had no business to be knocking at his own door, which meant he had a visitor. No soul had called at #3 Bag Shot Row for nearly three years now.  
  
He didn't have time to dwell on this as another knock came, this time sounding more urgent. A second hand joined in; telling Sam there was more than one person waiting outside his door. What did they want?  
  
Slowly he walked down the hall, making his way to the door.  
  
"Sam! Please be home!"  
  
Was that? Frodo? What in the lands was he doing here? Without any further hesitation Sam threw open the door and saw three very wet and cold looking hobbits.  
  
"What are you doing here, sirs? If my father comes home and sees you here..."  
  
"Sam!" Frodo interrupted him, and Pippin folded his arms across his chest in an attempt to warm himself. "Your father would be angrier still if you turned away three frozen hobbits from the warmth of your home. Would you really let us catch a chill out here?"  
  
Sam was torn. The very good nature of his heart urged him to let the lads in, and sit them in front of the fire and warm them up until they were positively toasty, and yet he was not allowed visitors, no matter who they were. Nobody had been into his home since his mother passed, and that was the way his father preferred it.  
  
Pippin looked up with him, his large green eyes pleading with him and his teeth chattering and Sam could not find it in his heart to turn him away.  
  
"Come in then, the lot of you. You've found yourselves in luck it would seem." Sam stepped aside from the door and let them in, closing it behind them. "The fire's been going strong for a while now" he informed them as he led them into the parlour and sat them down in front of the fire, making sure no-one sat in his Gaffer's chair. Making sure they were all settled, he got fresh towels from the laundry room and he sat and dried Pippin first, and then Frodo. When he got to Merry, the Brandybuck wouldn't let Sam near him and insisted he could do it himself. Making no secret in his expression of his dislike for Merry, Sam said he was needed elsewhere.  
  
"I'd best make you all some nice soup, to warm your blood," and with that, he disappeared to the kitchen.  
  
He didn't have to think hard to remember the recipe for the soup. It was imprinted firmly in his memory and he was running though the ingredients in his head whilst he rummaged through the larder, picking them out as he went along. He then set a pan on top of the stove, and set about preparing and making the soup.  
  
It was only a few minutes later when Sam heard Frodo's voice call out from the parlour. "Merry! Just leave him alone will you!" Shortly after that, Merry walked into the kitchen. He had obviously made a rushed job of drying himself, and his curly hair was mussed and damp.  
  
"So, Samwise. What soup will you be making us, then?" the Brandybuck asked, craning his head to get a better view of what Sam was throwing into the mixture. Sam glanced up at him, annoyed with his interfering presence, but remembering his manners.  
  
"None that you'd know of sir," Sam replied shortly, concentrating on slicing up the vegetables and throwing them into the soup. Just as he had spoken Frodo also came bustling into the now crowded kitchen.  
  
"Merry! What business do you have distracting Sam?" Frodo asked, tugging on Merry's sleeve to lead him back into the parlour.  
  
"Don't get yourself so worked up, Frodo! I was only inquiring as to which soup Sam is making for us. From the looks of it, and from what he's told me it's certainly none that I've ever heard of, and I've been fully trained in the Shire's recipes. It's his own, inferior recipe."  
  
Sam's knife dropped onto the chopping board with a thud as he gripped the counter and stared out of the window, drawing all manner of self-control to him.  
  
"It was my mother's recipe...she made it for us when she was sick."  
  
"Bell's soup?" Frodo's eyes lit up as he remembered being very ill one summer, and having the worse fever he'd ever experienced. Bell had brought some of her soup, and it had warmed him down to his toes.  
  
"It doesn't look like she knows what she's doing. I've never seen such a mishmash of ingredients. Her recipe is nothing more than an attempt at expertise. One that in my opinion, is a failure." Merry's eyes went wide as Sam whirled around with more speed than Merry would have held it in him to use and gripped Merry by his damp collar.  
  
"Sam!" Before he had time to think Frodo was at Sam's side, feebly grabbing his broad shoulders and trying to pull them back. "Sam, don't do this!" Sam turned to Frodo, and slowly came back to himself, releasing Merry's shirt and stepping back. Without a sound he went back to his cooking, which by now was producing a sweet aroma.  
  
"Steady there, thumper!" Merry said, rearranging his collar and trying to remain calm and cool.  
  
"Merry! Have you no courtesy or respect? Sometimes I wonder why I'm friends with you when you are so vicious to those less well off than you. Sam's mother was a good woman, and she was also an excellent cook. She's sorely missed by all who knew her."  
  
"Missed?"  
  
"She died." Sam said, his voice flat and dull, because if he dwelt too much on it he would break down in front of them, and he didn't want that to happen. "Died nearly a year ago."  
  
It was in that moment, when Merry was studying Sam's back that he realized servants were ordinary hobbits too. Ones that had felt a lot more pain, and suffering than Merry, cooped up in his sheltered home of Brandy Hall had ever felt.  
  
He gave a single nod, even though Sam could not see it, and looked repentant at Frodo.  
  
"It smells wonderful, Sam," was all Merry could say after a heavy silence. "I'd best go back in with Pippin" Merry said and disappeared back into the hall.  
  
After a long drawn out silence, only punctuated by the sounds of chopping, or water boiling Frodo stepped forward, wringing his hands as he thought of what to say.  
  
"Forgive my cousin Sam, he can be hurtful for those that he thinks are beneath him."  
  
"He's right sir, he's my better. He can say what he likes."  
  
"That's not true, Sam!" Frodo snapped, growing exasperated. "You are a hobbit just like the rest of us. So you were born in a gardener's family! That doesn't count for anything. I've known you since you were practically a babe, and you deserve respect just like anyone else, maybe even more than some people! Why are you so convinced that you don't?"  
  
Sam said nothing and stared ahead.  
  
"Fine then, do not speak to me." Frodo disappeared to rejoin his cousins, and Sam closed his eyes, furious with himself for upsetting his master. Yet, why did Frodo feel the need to pry into his life, when Sam did not pry into his? He didn't feel comfortable talking about himself, and he wouldn't. Not even to Frodo.  
  
He divided the soup into three bowls, and set a fourth on the shelf above the stove where it could be kept warm for his father. The three he set on a tray, along with three bread rolls, lavished with butter. He carried the tray into the parlour where the three hobbits were sitting in front of the fire, and he set the bowls and plates on the table, drawing it closer to the fire.  
  
"There you are sirs. It's not much I know," and he glanced at Merry as he said this, who promptly looked down at his soup, "but it'll warm you up a bit."  
  
All three hobbits gathered round the small tables, wrapped in their towels and began to tuck into their soup. Even Merry could not disguise his expression, as he tasted the wonderfully flavoured soup.  
  
"This is wonderful, Sam!" Merry praised before reaching for his roll and breaking off a bit to dip into the soup. Sam only stood by and watched, blushing from the sincere comment.  
  
"Just as delicious as Bell's!" Frodo added, not looking up at him. Sam felt waves of guilt for offending him in the kitchen. Pippin's only reaction was "Yummy!"  
  
The front door opened and then banged shut.  
  
"Hoi Sam! You don't know your luck!" Hamfast appeared in the doorway of the parlour, rubbing his hands together. "Oh? What's this then?" He turned to Sam, displeasure evident on his face.  
  
"Sir...they were caught out in the rain! They knocked on our door, and they were shivering, and freezing. I couldn't leave them out there..."  
  
Merry raised his head slightly as he heard the way in which Sam spoke to his father. Bemused he turned to Frodo, who was watching Sam and the gaffer carefully with a frown on his face.  
  
After a lengthy silence in which Hamfast stared at his son, he finally nodded. "Alright lad, you did the right thing." Sam exhaled, almost smiling in relief.  
  
The gaffer turned to the three hobbits kneeling by the table, and at the half-filled bowls in front of them.  
  
"Is that..?" He turned to face Sam, who had looked away, and avoided his gaze. "Sam, a word with you if you wouldn't mind?" He walked out of the room, and into the kitchen and Sam, followed, trying desperately to ignore Frodo's protesting stare.  
  
He had barely stepped into the kitchen when he came face to face with Hamfast.  
  
"What's going through your mind, lad? When you'll cook things that don't rightly belong to you?"  
  
"What?" Sam looked deeply confused.  
  
"The stew! That was your mother's recipe, and yet you're makin' it and servin' it as if it were your own!"  
  
"That's not what I was doin'!" Sam cried, "They were shiverin', and they were cold, and they needed somethin' to keep them warm 'fore they caught a chill. It was the first thing I could think of that would do the trick! I made some for you as I thought you'd be caught in the rain!"  
  
As it happened, Hamfast was only damp, and not as soaked through as the others had been. Bilbo had invited him in just before the rain started, and refused to let him go out again until it had calmed down.  
  
Hamfast looked to the stove and back again at Sam with a look of utter disbelief.  
  
"You made me... a bowl of your mother's best soup?"  
  
Sam nodded, already knowing that he had done something wrong.  
  
"Samwise Gamgee, don't you have anything in that thick head of yours?" Hamfast raised his voice to little under a shout. "Samwise, I named you, and Samwise you are! Half wise! Numb skull, and a great deal more! You're mother is gone! And no amount of cleaning or cooking is going to bring her back! You can't replace her Sam, not now, not ever! Now get out of my sight!"  
  
Before his father could see the tears trickling down his face Sam whirled around and stormed out of the kitchen. He barged into Frodo, who was on his way into the kitchen. He mumbled his apologies and dashed past before Frodo could say a word.  
  
"Don't mind him, Master Frodo" Hamfast said as he took a seat at his table.  
  
"What's wrong with him?"  
  
"Oh, I'd be the wisest hobbit in the Shire if I knew that, sir." The Gaffer offered Frodo a smile, and was met by a neutral gaze. Hamfast looked down at the table and saw a tattered book at the opposite end. "Is that yours, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
"Is what mine?" Frodo looked at Hamfast puzzledly and then clocked the book on the table. He feigned a look of remembrance. "Oh! That old thing! Yes I brought it with me for a bit of light reading, I must have been reading it whilst Sam was cooking and forgot all about it."  
  
"Well, just make sure you don't go losing it, and lying it around in places it ain't ought to be."  
  
"I won't, Hamfast. Thank you."  
  
"Well, I've got things to do, sir. So if you'll excuse me..."  
  
"Of course." Frodo said. Hamfast got up from his chair, though not without some effort Frodo noted, and walked out of the kitchen.  
  
Once he was sure he was alone, Frodo walked over to the book laying open on the table. He could read it well enough, though there were names of plants he'd never heard of. It was a gardening book well enough, and Frodo smiled at Sam's choice. He closed the book and looked at the front cover, seeing how it would catch his eye, and though Sam couldn't read, it was his.  
  
He picked it up and walked out of the kitchen, making his way down the hall. He had been in Sam's home many years ago, and remembered which room was the lad's bedroom. Reaching that room, he knocked on the door, and heard no reply so he twisted the doorknob and pushed the door open.  
  
There were three beds, two of them long unused. The other bed was neatly made to perfection, but there were breeches strewn over the foot of the bed. Frodo smiled at the contrast to an otherwise tidy room, and walked over to the bed.  
  
He placed the book on the bed and picked up the breeches to put them away in their proper place.  
  
They felt damp and sticky, and Frodo froze, thinking he had stumbled across evidence of Sam's continuing adolescence, but when he drew his hand away there was blood on his palm.  
  
So the abuse continues? Frodo felt a sudden rush of anger, though whether it was entirely directed at Hamfast, or whether a portion of it was reserved for Sam who had kept it secret, Frodo was not sure.  
  
He did not get a chance to consider it properly for he was interrupted by a voice at the doorway.  
  
"What are you doing in here?" 


	8. Chapter 8

*~AN: Here we are, then. Another update after so long. My apologies, my life has been a busy one of late, what with my new job. However I bring you this, which is not as long as last time, nor as good, but it's better than nothing. Once again Solmath=February, and Rethe=March. I think I got that right.....~*  
  
Frodo turned around, facing the other hobbit with wide eyes. Sam's breeches were still clutched in his hand, though for the moment they were forgotten.  
  
"I- uh," Frodo stammered, and for once he was at a loss for words to say. Sam stepped forward and snatched his breeches out of Frodo's hands.  
  
"You have no business snoopin' in here without my knowin'!" he said in a hushed voice, though his words were no less stern.  
  
"I know! I'm sorry! I was just- I was returning your book. I told Hamfast that it was mine." Sam's eyes glanced over to the book laying on his bed and then back to Frodo.  
  
"And these just happened to fly into your hands, did they?" Sam stormed over to the wardrobe, flung his breeches into the bottom and slammed the doors shut.  
  
"He's hurt you again, hasn't he?" Frodo asked, ignoring Sam's remark.  
  
"It won't do you no good pokin' your nose into things you don't understand," Sam evaded, walking back to the bedroom door and closing it, so as not to be overheard.  
  
"But I want to understand, Sam!" Frodo cried in exasperation. "I wish you would drop this act and just talk to me! We were friends once, were we not?"  
  
Sam nodded. "Aye, we were friends once, and I had a whole lot more too, but things change! I have to take care of my gaffer now!"  
  
"But why? Why are you always defending him and protecting him, when all your efforts brings you this?" Frodo held up his palm, where the faint trace of Sam's blood could still be seen. Sam paled and looked disgusted, and he grabbed one of the remaining strips of his brother's shirt. He took Frodo's hand in his, and began scrubbing at it.  
  
"You're too good to have such filth stain your fair hand," he muttered as he cleaned his blood from Frodo's hand. Frodo drew his hand back as if he had been burned. He stared at Sam with a mixture of horror and anger.  
  
"Don't you ever let me hear you say anything like that again, Samwise Gamgee!" Frodo scolded as Sam stood to attention, fighting the blush that was creeping onto his face. "You are not filth! You're not even close. You are the truest hobbit I've ever known, and if you wish to count yourself amongst the likes of Lotho or Ted Sandyman, then you are beyond hope. As the matter lies, you have not answered my question."  
  
"It en't like you think, Mr. Frodo." Sam spoke to the floor. "My gaffer didn't do this! You know what his hands are like nowadays! He tries to hide it, and pretend he's fine, but they're troubling him and he won't go see anybody about it! He dropped a cup of tea and I were standing too close." Sam wasn't lying, nor was he speaking the entire truth. "If you're looking for something to blame then it's broken crockery and hot tea!"  
  
Frodo relented, though he wasn't convinced. "If you say so, Sam, forgive me but I worry about you."  
  
"It's not your place to."  
  
"Don't speak to me of place or class, Sam, I'm speaking to you as the friends we once were. Hamfast has hurt you Sam, and he'll do it again if you don't find help!"  
  
"I don't want any help!" Sam snapped, raising his voice a little. "Whatever he does, he's my father and I love him and you can't take that away from me!"  
  
"I don't want to take anything away from you, Sam, but can't you see that I can't bear to see you hurt? To worry constantly at the end of the day about whether you are safe and whole?"  
  
"I can, Mr. Frodo, and I'm touched by your concern but there's no need for it."  
  
"Fine! Keep pushing me away, Sam. Sooner or later you'll find yourself alone in the Shire. I hope you realize before it's too late that it doesn't have to be that way!"  
  
Sam stood speechless as Frodo opened the door and walked out. He remained standing there for many minutes until his father knocked on the doorframe.  
  
"There's definitely something queer about that Mr. Frodo," he said, remaining in the doorway, aware of Sam's private domain. "Anyhow, he just took off with his cousins. Is that his book?"  
  
Sam shook himself out of his thoughts and looked once more at the book. "Aye he left it," Sam replied, his voice dull and flat. "I'll take it to him in the morning."  
  
With that, Sam placed the book on his side table and laid down on his bed. Hamfast got the message and closed the door.  
  
*  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
Frodo sighed, and lifted his head from where it was nestled in the crease of his elbow on his desk.  
  
"Yes, uncle?"  
  
"Are you sure you're all right in there? You've been cooped up in there for a while now." Bilbo's voice inquired from out in the hall.  
  
"I'm fine." Frodo called back, snapping just a little.  
  
"You know, you can always talk to me...if something's wrong? I may be old, but I assure you I still have some wits about me."  
  
"There's nothing wrong, Bilbo! I just want to be alone."  
  
"Well...if you're hungry, I've saved some breakfast for you."  
  
"Thank you, uncle." Frodo listened to the sound of Bilbo's footsteps walking away and looked out of his window. It was late morning, almost luncheon, and he had not emerged out of his room, refusing to let anyone in. He had changed from his nightclothes into the clothes he wore now, but that was as far as he went. His hair was still messed from his night's sleep.  
  
He shifted his gaze to the window, and observed Sam and his father out in the garden. He had been watching them since they arrived and he felt guilty for spying on Sam.  
  
Nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Hamfast had given Sam his jobs to do around the garden, and clipped him around the ear when he had messed something up, or neglected to do any of them. Nothing that suggested Hamfast had beat Sam's back until it was torn and bleeding.  
  
Frodo wondered to himself how long it had been going on. He had always felt that Sam had changed after his mother died. He was more distant, reserved and he seemed to avoid Frodo, speaking only out of formality. At first Frodo had put that down to grief over the loss of his mother, but now he considered the fact that there was more to it.  
  
As he watched, Hamfast strode over to Samwise and pointed to the smial, handing him a wrapped parcel. Sam nodded and set off up the steps, although he was staring at the parcel with sadness.  
  
Once Sam was inside, and out of Frodo's vision, Frodo turned his gaze back to Hamfast, staring at him with bitter contempt. This was the hobbit responsible for taking his dearest friend away. He was the one responsible for destroying Sam's childlike innocence. What once was a small lad, tugging on his knees and begging for stories was now an emotionless, hard- working empty shell. Frodo wished he could do something, but without Sam's cooperation, or desire for help, he wasn't really in much position to do anything.  
  
Who would believe him anyway? Hamfast had had a long service with Bilbo, and Bilbo had nothing but praise for the gardener. Most likely he would think Frodo was making it up, crying for attention, as would most inhabitants of the Shire.  
  
*  
  
Sam hardly took his eyes off of the parcel in his hands. He refused to admit it to himself, but he may have felt just slightly angry. He had saved up for two months to get this; it was *his*. Now that it came to this, he didn't feel like parting with it yet under the watchful eyes of his father, he had no other choice. In his mind he went over possibilities of standing up to his father, of telling him the book belonged to him, and that he had bought it.  
  
But then, these scenarios vanished into a wisp of smoke, as he knew what pain it would bring him. It wasn't the fact that his gaffer would hurt him that put paid to his thoughts of confronting him, it was the fact that Frodo would discover one more injury to add to the list, and as much as he had brushed him off these past few months, he didn't wish to cause him more worry.  
  
He unwrapped the cloth covering and studied the book one last time, tracing his hand, as he always did over the daisy on the cover.  
  
"Samwise?"  
  
Sam looked up as Bilbo walked down the hall to where Sam was stood just inside the front door.  
  
"Good Morning, Mr. Bilbo!" Sam greeted, putting on a brave smile, before frowning. "Or is it afternoon yet?"  
  
Bilbo chuckled. "No, there's still some minutes of the morning left. What's that there, lad?" Bilbo pointed at the book.  
  
"Oh!" Sam hastily covered it back up. "Oh, it's not mine! I came to return it to Frodo. Oh! That is, Mr. Frodo!" Sam blushed at his blunder, but if Bilbo noticed it, he didn't seem to show any sign.  
  
"Did he lend it to you, for a bit of light reading?" Bilbo's eyes lit up. "Has Frodo-lad been teaching you your letters, at last?"  
  
Sam shook his head adamantly. "No, sir. He left it behind yesterday when he stayed out of the rain."  
  
"Well, if that's what you say." Sam looked back at the parcel, missing Bilbo's disappointed expression. "Although I must say I don't recognise it as one of Frodo's."  
  
"He left it behind yesterday, when he stayed out of the rain." Sam repeated, mechanically.  
  
"Indeed." Bilbo's scrutiny softened as concern washed over his face. "As it happens, Sam-lad, I was hoping you might have a word with Frodo. I haven't seen his face since he got back yesterday. He won't come out of his room, even for his meals. I've tried to talk to him, but to no effect."  
  
"Begging your pardon, sir, but what makes you think he'll talk to me?" Sam asked, shuffling his feet.  
  
"Well, he likes you lad! Can't stop him talking about you, it seems. If he'll talk to anybody, it makes sense it'd be you." Sam cringed inside at Bilbo's words, remembering all to clearly the disagreement that he and Frodo had had the previous afternoon. "At least just give it a try, won't you?"  
  
Sam nodded. "Yes, sir, though I don't guarantee anything. He just might not want to talk to anyone."  
  
"I understand, Samwise. Do your best." Sam nodded and took off down the corridor.  
  
He reached the door of Frodo's room and knocked four times.  
  
Inside the room, Frodo sighed, and dropped his head back onto his arms.  
  
Met by silence on the other side of the door, Sam knocked again. "Mr. Frodo?"  
  
Frodo groaned quietly at whom was knocking for him, refusing to lift his head. "What do you want, Sam?" He called, muffled by his arms.  
  
"I brought the book for you, Mr. Frodo."  
  
Frodo groaned and closed his eyes. "You shouldn't have done that," he mumbled as he stood up to open his door and invite Sam in. Sam didn't hide his surprise when Frodo opened the door, and he turned to see if Bilbo was still at the end of the hall, but he had disappeared.  
  
Tentatively he stepped forward, clutching the book with two hands. "Yeah well, makes no sense in my holding onto it, I'll never be able to get much out of it."  
  
"Now, that's not true!" Frodo scolded. "Nor is it the point, this book is yours Sam, and I don't want to take that from you."  
  
Sam didn't reply as he stared at the book in his hands. "Well maybe..." he broke off, and shook his head at his bad idea.  
  
"What? Maybe what, Sam?"  
  
Sam looked up, blushing slightly. Frodo smiled inwardly at seeing that blush, a reminder of the old Sam he used to know. "Well, maybe you could look after it, just for safe-keeping! Then it'd still be mine."  
  
Frodo beamed, regarding Sam with wonder. "Sam, you're a marvel! Of course! That's the answer, isn't it? You can leave it here, and look at it as often as you like."  
  
Sam shook his head, "Oh, I don't think there's much point in that, it's all just strange symbols to me."  
  
"Well, it's not much use to me either, as I'm not a gardener." Frodo smiled at Sam with amusement. "You must have known this was a gardening book, why else would you have brought it?" Sam dropped his gaze, embarrassed and didn't answer. "I don't understand it, myself, but if you'd like, I could read a chapter to you, perhaps during your break? I might even be able to teach you a little."  
  
Sam looked up with wide eyes, and Frodo tried not to smile at the astonishment in the younger lad's eyes. "Really, sir? You'd do that?"  
  
"Of course I would, Sam, and if you react as well as you are now then nothing would make me happier." Something happened then that Frodo had not seen for nigh on a year. A very large grin spread onto Sam's face, one that was honest and genuine, and Frodo smiled himself. This was the Sam he remembered.  
  
"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you!" Sam practically bounced on the spot. "I'd best be off then, and let you get on!" With that, Sam turned tail and left the room, returning moments later to return the book that he had forgotten he was holding on to. Frodo laughed with joy as Sam left the room a second time, and ran his hand through his hair as he too left his room to seek Bilbo and his cousins.  
  
*  
  
The last weeks of Solmath flew by without great incident. Sam went into Frodo's room everyday at noon to hear another chapter of the book, which he would listen to with great concentration and apt attention. Despite his reluctance and stubbornness, Frodo had managed to teach him most of his letters, and within the first two weeks of Rethe, Sam could write his name, as well as the names of most flowers. Merry and Pippin left Bag End a week after Sam's lessons had started, returning to their homes and threatening to visit again soon.  
  
To Frodo, it seemed life couldn't be better. He had found the friend he had thought he lost, and had given him something that he will use forever. It even seemed the Gaffer had lightened up on his son, as Sam seemed so much more full of energy and life.  
  
To Sam, it was more complex than that. He was grateful beyond measure for Frodo, for teaching him his letters, and for teaching him inadvertently about gardening, through reading to him the chapters in his book. He knew the immense task Frodo had set upon himself to teach Sam, and so he did not want to disappoint him, so he changed the way he acted whenever he was alone with Frodo. He became more like Merry, more lighthearted and carefree, like he used to be for Frodo's sake.  
  
His renewed friendship with Frodo hadn't gone unnoticed either. Sam's father had taken out his disapproval on Sam's legs and shoulders, and occasionally his back, but the worse were only bruises, which were easily covered up.  
  
It took a lot of effort to convince Frodo that all was well, but for all the energy it took, Sam was happy to continue lying to Frodo, as it would mean they were still friends. What Frodo had said that night in his room had hurt him deeply, though he did not realize it at the time. He had no friends, and no family. He was alone in the world.  
  
Keeping to his promises and his threats, Merry had returned to Bag End on various days throughout the two months of Solmath and Rethe, sometimes alone and other times he was accompanied by his partner in crime, Pippin, whom he was slowly training to follow in his mischievous footsteps.  
  
During his visits Merry would often sit out in the garden with his pipe, that everyone knew he was too young to have, but weren't at all bothered. He would watch the two gardeners hard at work in the spectacular garden at Bag End. He especially turned a keen eye on Sam, for Merry was a curious hobbit, and was intrigued with the way Sam spoke and acted around his father. He noted Sam's body tensed up whenever he heard Hamfasts' voice, and that he spoke to him as he would Bilbo. Merry had never once heard Sam address Hamfast as dad, or father, only sir, or the Gaffer.  
  
He had once brought up his observations with his cousin, who had become flustered and made a quick excuse to be somewhere else very soon. Something was going on, and as a curious Hobbit, Merry intended to find out exactly what it was. 


	9. Chapter 9

Sam looked up from the bed in front of him and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He had been working hard all morning, and the first rays of the Spring sun were shining down on him. His shirt was open, but not removed, and there were streaks of dirt on his red face but he smiled with content as he looked at the bare bed in front of him. The bulbs were planted, and the topsoil was smooth, but Sam was impatient for the flowers to spring up and bloom.   
  
When Frodo had read nearly three quarters of the gardening book to him, Sam had somehow managed to summon up the confidence and courage to ask his father for his own little plot of gardening for him to work on, on his own. Through some sheer stroke of luck, Hamfast had agreed, thinking it would be good to give the lad something that he could spend his working hours tending to so as not to idly daydream.   
  
Still it would be a few months before Sam could see whether the knowledge he had gained from both his father and his book would come to anything. Sighing, he wiped his forehead again and stood up, walking over to where his father was working.  
  
"Sir, I've finished up there now for the spring. What would you have me do now?"   
  
Hamfast looked up, but did not look at his son. No, he looked over at the young Brandybuck sitting on the garden bench by the front door. "You can go and see what he wants if you'd like. He's been sitting out here all mornin' just lookin'. Feels right odd if you ask me."  
  
Sam nodded and made to start walking when Hamfast drew him back. "What is there in that head boy, soup? Make yourself look presentable before you start ambling about anywhere!" Sam blushed and fumbled to fasten his shirt and sling his braces up.   
  
"Master Merry!" He called, drawing closer to the bench. The younger hobbit looked up, chewing on the pipe in his mouth. "What brings you out here, sir, away from your cousins?"  
  
"I was just admiring the garden, Samwise, as I think it's within my rights to."   
  
"Aye it is, sir, though beggin' your pardon, I didn't think gardenin' was of any interest to you." Sam refused the urge to sneer, and instead smiled politely.  
  
"You're quite right, though such a feat it is, I have no interest in gardening, nor in gardeners, but I appreciate a pretty and well-kept garden as much as the next person. Your father seems quite the talented gardener."   
  
Sam turned to look over at Hamfast, blissfully obvlious to Sam's gaze as he continued working. He wasn't the only one being watched; As Sam had turned away, Merry's grey eyes had become more keen, hoping to elicit some response from Sam that may satisfy his curiosity.   
  
"Aye he is, sir. The Gaffer's a true gardener right enough, as was his father, and his father's father, Holman the Greenhanded."  
  
"And when you take over from Hamfast, you'll continue the legacy?" Merry asked, his face changing back to passive as Sam turned back to face him.   
  
"I won't ever better than the Gaffer, sir, or even close. I'm too much of a soft fool."  
  
"Sam!" Merry exclaimed, as he pretended to be startled by Sam's words. Such a skilled actor was Merry that Sam fell for it.   
  
"No, Mr. Merry, it's true. I won't ever take over from the Gaffer, when he's too old to carry on, then Mr. Bilbo will let us go, and find another gardener."  
  
"Well, I don't think that's true, Sam! Bilbo's very fond of you, and Frodo too. They would sooner invite a group of Orcs to stay than see you go."   
  
"You shouldn't say such things, sir." Sam looked down, at the grass, feeling a little scared at the thought of Orcs running loose at Bag End. Merry was silent for a while, as he took a few puffs on his pipe, but then he sat forward on his chair and catching Sam's gaze so he wouldn't look away.   
  
"Do you love your father, Samwise?"   
  
"What?! How could you ask such a thing, sir? Of course I do! I loved all of my family."   
  
Merry made a note of Sam's use of past tense and stored it in the back of his mind. He knew Sam had lost his mother, but there were more of them. More Gamgee brats somewhere in the Shire. "Then why do you call him sir, or Gaffer? Do you ever call him dad, or father?"  
  
"Yes!" Samwise answered. "Mostly only at home, though." 'While I'm screaming for my life' Sam thought to himself. "He's my boss here, and I call him by his title. Its respect, sir!"   
  
  
  
Merry only shrugged, and leaned back on the bench. He resumed his smoking, his conversation with Sam finished and Sam slunk away back to his Gaffer.  
  
*  
  
Merry had stayed in the garden for another two hours before Sam had realised he was gone. 'Good riddance to bad rubbish' he had thought, before mentally punishing himself. He looked up at his father, who was staring out beyond the fence and down the hill.   
  
"Hoi, Sam!" Hamfast cried, and he waved with his hand for Sam to join him. "That there's a messenger from the postal office, see the feather there in his cap?"  
  
Sam nodded as the fellow climbed the hill, his attire clearly marking him as a messenger. "Naught strange about that, is there? I imagine Mr. Bilbo gets all sorts of letters from others."  
  
"I dare say he doesn't, but Mr. Bilbo always collects them from the office, himself."  
  
The two gardeners of the Hill watched and waited as the Messenger reached the top of the hill and waited outside the gate.   
  
"I have a letter here for Messrs. Gamgee, care of Bag End."  
  
"Well, that be us, sir." Hamfast answered, stepping forward to the gate, "but who has business writing to us?"  
  
"That I can't tell you sir, only that the message comes from Tighfield." With that, he handed over a sealed envelope with the postal stamp of Tighfield, and Hamfast paid him his due. When the messenger had gone off on his way, Hamfast turned back to Sam.  
  
"Go on in, and see what this has to say, lad, but don't trouble Mr. Bilbo, he's busy enough without us calling on him. Put your kinship with Master Frodo to good use, and get this letter read. Your brothers or sisters wouldn't be writing to us without good reason."  
  
Sam nodded and took the letter, almost running into the Smial. When he had got inside and closed the door, he opened the envelope, pulling out the sheet of parchment inside as he began to read. Such as he could, there were only some roads he could make out. His sister, Marigold being one of them, as well as something about a sickness. His face, previously red from exertion now paled until he looked as if a deadly disease struck him now and then. Coming back to himself, he rushed down the hall to Frodo's room.  
  
"Frodo!" He cried as he reached the door, and reached down for the doorknob. He twisted it and barged into the room, not sparing a thought for how he was intruding on Frodo's privacy. When he had burst through the door, Frodo and Merry turned from Frodo's desk where they were reading some story together, and looked startled to see Sam.  
  
"Begging your pardon, sir, and you too Master Merry, I didn't mean to intrude or overstep my bounds by...by coming in uninvited, and me without knocking as well. I hope I didn't startle you too much."  
  
"Not at all, Sam," Merry's lips curled into an arrogant smile. "As a matter of fact, you were just the lad we were talking about."   
  
Frodo turned back to Merry, and glared at him, and Sam stood in his place, still buzzing with anxious energy. Frodo noticed this and he stood up, walking over to the lad. "Sam? Whatever's the matter?" He looked down at Sam's hands and noticed the screwed up roll of parchment clutched between his stout finger.  
  
"I...I'm not sure, it's Marigold, sir, that much I know." He brought up the letter and straightened it as he cast his eyes across the words once more. "She's...she's sick...or something, I don't know! I can't read a blasted word of it!" Sam's words grew steadily to a shout, which surprised even Merry. He was undone, and on the verge of tears.  
  
"Calm down, Sam, it's all right." Frodo reached out his arm and gripped Sam's shoulder encouragingly, before prising the letter out of his tight grip. Frodo cleared his throat and read:  
  
Dear Father, and Samwise  
  
We hope you are both well, and doing well in your jobs as gardeners of the Hill, however we write to inform you of ill news. Marigold came down with a sickness three days ago. She has a light fever, however the healer says that it is not grave, and will pass within a week or two. The real reason we write is because Marigold has been crying out in her sleep for you, and for Sam. In her waking hours she urges us to send word to you, and we have not the heart to deny her. We are aware that you are busy at Bag End, but if you could spare a few days to visit Marigold, then we are sure this would speed her recovery.  
  
  
  
Love, Hamfast, and the rest of your children.  
  
"See? It isn't that bad, is it?" Sam said nothing, and continued to look frightened. "Marigold will be fine, Sam, and Bilbo will be more than happy to let the both of you go and visit her. Go on, run and tell Hamfast." Sam merely nodded vacantly, grasping the letter and dashing back out.   
  
"He's taking a bout of illness a little hard, isn't he?" Merry quizzed Frodo after a heavy silence.  
  
"His mother died from illness" Frodo replied, and they were silent once more.   
  
*  
  
"Dad!" Sam cried, sprinting out of Bag End and back to his father. "Goldie's sick. Hamfast says she wants us both to see her."   
  
"What? But that's impossible! We're too busy up here! It's nigh on Spring, and we've got a lot of work ahead of us."  
  
"Please, dad." Samwise choked, feeling his breath hitching. "She's sick." Hamfast understood Sam's point and nodded solemnly, but he did not give.   
  
"Leastwise, only one of us can go. She's my daughter and I don't trust you traveling all that way by yourself." If Hamfast was honest to himself, he didn't want his children to see what Sam had become. He saw Sam's face fall, and as tough as he had been this past year he knew the cause of the hurt on Sam's face. "Don't you worry, lad, Marigold will be right as well. Like Hamfast says, the doctor is sure there is nothing to worry about. If anything happens, I'll send word to you. In the meantime, you'll be gardener up here. You better shape up, lad. You've got a lot of work ahead."  
  
Sam sighed and looked back at Bag End. He could make out Frodo's face watching him out of the window, and he smiled slightly, to show everything was all right. He so dearly wished to see his family once more, and it would be his mother's anniversary in a couple of weeks, surely his father wouldn't miss that?  
  
He knew that his father would most definitely forget his birthday a week after just as he had the year before, though Sam had not blamed him. He was so wrapped up in grief that he even forgot it was his birthday.   
  
Frodo had remembered, and as Sam resumed his work, little did he realize that Frodo was still watching him, and his birthday would not slip past him unnoticed. 


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: Wow…this has been kinda long since I last updated, huh? Almost a year. It's been so long I've forgotten most of my plot points. Nevertheless, I shall endeavor and hope it all comes back to me. Anyway, I've had this written down for most of the year so here it is for your reading.

* * *

_

In the space of two days, Hamfast had obtained leave from Bilbo, packed his bags and rattled off an untold amount of warnings and instructions to Samwise before embarking on his journey to Tighfield.

As soon as Sam stepped back inside #3 Bagshot Row after waving goodbye to his father, he felt utmost despondency wash over him. He was entirely alone in the small hole.

He thought of how his father would be joining his beloved family in Tighfield, and truly felt like an outsider in his own family. He headed down the hall to the bathroom, his favorite place in times of despair. There he broke down, and cried for hours on end.

* * *

Frodo shifted impatiently and craned his head to see down the lane, winding down the hill and through Bagshot Row. The sun peeked down at him through shielding clouds. Rain was looming, but the sun still shone in hope of chasing the clouds away.

From Bag End, Merry stepped out and made his way across the garden to where Frodo was waiting by the gate.

"Please, for the sake of the Shire, cousin, tell me why you have been standing in this spot for nigh on three hours now. There's breakfast left over inside, though it's not Sam's cooking as you favor highly, where is he anyway?"

"I don't know," Frodo replied, not taking his eyes away from the lane, "He hasn't turned up yet."

"It's not like him to be late, is it?" Merry asked, his expression puzzled.

"Never in his service has he ever been late," Frodo replied. "Where are you?" he muttered under his breath.

"Go down there, and see what's wrong, cousin if you're that worried."

"I can't, he'll think I'm interfering again."

"Interfering? In what?"

Frodo turned from the gate, his face drained of color. "Nothing, Merry, he likes his privacy, is all."

Merry scoffed. "Well, don't we all?" Frodo didn't reply, choosing instead to look back down the lane. He could see a Hobbit climbing his way up the hill, though he could tell it was not Sam.

"I want to do something for him, Merry. He thinks he has no friends, that nobody cares about him, but that's not true. I want to show him that."

"Well there's only one thing you can do," Merry replied, grinning mischievously and his eyes twinkled. Frodo turned to him, regarding him warily.

"What are you thinking, Meriadoc?" he asked his younger cousin, frowning skeptically.

"Frodo, you are a complete dolt if you don't know! It's Sam's birthday in less than a week! Throw him a party, invite anyone that knows him!"

Frodo mulled this over in his mind and nodded. "That's exactly it! A party for Sam! A perfect excuse for him to relax. Hoi! Hoi Jolly!" He called down the Hill, to the Hobbit that was approaching.

"Mornin' Mr. Frodo, and Master Meriadoc too. It's a fine day today, ain't it? Though not as pleasant for all, I deem." Jolly Cotton leant on the fence, and he noticed Sam's absence, though without a mention.

"Why, yes it is. You were a friend of Sam's, weren't you, Tom?"

"I'd like to think I still were, Mr. Frodo, though I couldn't wager a guess anymore. I can't remember the last time I had a decent chat with the lad, seems he's too busy nowadays."

"Well, I think we can sort that problem out," Frodo smiled, and turned to Merry. The younger Hobbit smirked. "We're holding a surprise party, for Sam's 20th. Would you like to come? I'm sure Sam would love to see you, and talk to you properly."

"A party? Doesn't sound like the sort of thing his Gaffer would agree to, if what I've heard is to be believed."

"He's not in Hobbiton at the moment, he's up in Tighfield, visiting his daughter."

"He's gone off and left Sam on his own?" Jolly started to look a lot less like his nickname, as Merry beheld grief and sorrow in his eyes. When Frodo nodded, Jolly looked down and took a deep breath. "Tom?"

"You have no idea what day it is today, do you sir?" He lifted his head, and Frodo saw the sadness in his eyes. Frodo flinched as realization flooded through him.

"Oh, Eru! Astron the first."

Merry turned his attention from Jolly to Frodo, confusion plaguing him. "It's Astron fool's day, what's bad about it? Besides the occasional prank from me."

"It's the day Sam's mother died." Frodo answered, his eyes closed in anguish.

"I don't reckon you'll see Sam here at all today."

Frodo rubbed his eyes with his left hand, chastising himself for being so stupid.

"Where was Bell buried?"

* * *

The Hobbiton burial ground was a small patch of land just outside the town, lying to the South. The grounds had been divided into two, with the mounds of the richer, statelier Hobbits resting to the West, and the poorer Hobbits laid to rest in the East. This divide was clear to see to all as the mounds in the West were well tended to. Flowers lined the earth around the mounds, and sometimes on the mound itself; there were ornate headstones, carved with chisel and stone and beautiful gardens and high trees surrounded them.

The poorer burial mounds were often bare, and not as well kept. The earth was dry, and no grass grew there. No headstone marked the graves, save the occasional wooden board, diseased and rotting. There was one grave that stood out in the Eastern section. One that looked beautiful, and extravagant enough to be placed in the Western grounds. The grass grew atop the mound, kept short by loving hands, and all around it, Bluebells grew. There was a slate stone, a recent addition that bore the name of she who rested there.

The young Hobbit knelt before her grave, plucking the petals of the last rose he bore. On the ground besides him lay the thorned stalks of beheaded flowers, and covering the mound, soft white petals lay.

So it was that Frodo came across Sam, deep in his mourning. He sat down besides him and gazed at the mound in wonder. It stood out in the Eastern section like a shining beacon, drawing all eyes to the grave of Bell Gamgee.

"Sam…" Frodo was at a loss of words to say, Anything he thought of he dismissed instantly as sounding inappropriate or uncaring. Instead he sat with Sam in silent mourning, laying down his mathom of yellow roses that he had brought with him.

* * *

"Does he know?"

"No, he doesn't know."

"All right…does he suspect anything?"

Frodo sighed in exasperation and gestured to the sky. "For the last time Merry, no!"

"Are you sure?" Frodo glared at his cousin with a look that would have killed him. Merry backed down with a grin. "Run through the plan again."

Rolling his eyes, Frodo groaned. "Sam is staying behind after work today, Bilbo will leave in the afternoon, seemingly to visit the dwarves, and stay the night. Sam thinks he's staying behind at my request, to keep me company. After dinner, I will tell him I wish to go for a walk, and deliver him to the Green Dragon, where you, Bilbo and everybody else will be waiting for him. Have you got it yet?"

"Got it! Loud and clear."

"Good, shouldn't you be organizing something?"

Merry feigned a look of hurt. "Dear cousin, you wouldn't be trying to get rid of me, would you?"

Frodo laughed as he playfully pushed Merry out of the door, "Go! Be off with you! I'll see you later."

"Goodbye cousin! Good day, Samwise!" Merry called to the lad as he walked down the path. Sam looked up from where he was raking the earth, and waved halfheartedly. Frodo frowned as he turned back to his work, sadness and depression hanging tight in the air.


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Argh! I started this story two years ago, and then I hit a massive block with it, so I sort of gave up on it. But then I got a review the other night begging me to continue, so continue I will! This is going by chapter updates, I haven't got the story finished, and I'm tackling it one chapter at a time. So if it's another year 'til I update, don't hate me! (But if you don't want to wait a year, make sure you leave a review and badger me to keep going!)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and setting, only the messed up plot. I mean no harm on the Gaffer, I'm sure he's a lovely fellow in real life.

Frodo neatly dropped his knife and fork onto the empty plate. Sam noted with surprise that his master had finished his meal. He neatly stacked his and Frodo's plates together before Frodo waved his hand dismissively and told him to sit.

"Another delicious meal, Sam. If I didn't know better I'd say you were trying to fatten me up!"

Sam looked indignant, shocked slightly at the presumption.

"Sir, I would never-"

"Sam, relax. I was just joking with you." Sam smiled sheepishly. Frodo had noted that Sam had seemed sadder of late. Within good reason as well. Two days before Bell's anniversary Sam had come running into his study, clutching a letter and fearing the worse. His fears were proved to be wrong as his letter spoke of Marigold's recovery and that Hamfast would be staying a little longer to spend more time with the family. Frodo remembered his blood pounding with anger as he read the note. Hamfast was excluding Samwise from the family, knowing what he had reduced Samwise to.

He looked out of the parlour window and saw that the Astron sun was setting. It was time.

"Samwise, all of that food has left me feeling a little bloated. What say we go on a little walk?"

"I've no objection to that, sir. I'll just wash these dishes and keep the fires stoked and we'll be off."

"The dishes can wait, Sam and it's a warm enough night! Come on lad, fetch your jacket."

"Very well, Mr. Frodo" Sam nodded before dashing out to fetch their coats.

"Lovely night, isn't it Sam?" Frodo looked sideways at Sam who was lost in his own World. He looked up startled and then around at their surroundings.

"Aye, sir. Not a chill in sight." He stopped suddenly, still looking around. "Goodness me, sir, are we ion Bywater already?"

"We are, Sam, though I hardly think you've noticed where your feet were leading you. You were away with the Elves!"

Sam blushed and looked away.

Frodo stopped and pointed at the Green Dragon, not ten feet away as if he'd seen it for the first time.

"I'm parched, Samwise. Let's stop for an ale before heading back."

Sam actually seemed to perk up, and looked as if he was considering something. What was running through his head was that the Cottons' were regulars of the 'Dragon, and he'd dearly love to see them all again and have a good natter.

"As you wish, sir!" He said brightly and led the way.

As the two hobbits approached, Sam noticed that the Inn seemed unusually quiet. He held the door open for Frodo, but his friend simply motioned for him to go first, a mischievous grin on his fair face.

Sam stepped forward and was greeted by a rapturous burst of noise. Cheers and whistles sprang forth from the group of hobbits gathered. Young Peregrin Took dashed forward and wrapped himself around Sam's legs. He looked at Frodo who had slipped in behind him with bewilderment.

"You didn't think we'd forget your birthday, did you?"

Bilbo, Merry and Jolly Cotton stepped forward and threw streamers over Sam. He looked around at the crowd of familiar faces and found a warm, happy smile spreading across his face.

Although there were no restrictions on how old a Hobbit must be to drink, most Hobbits denied their children any ale, unless it was a special occasion. (And Hobbits celebrated anything that could possibly warrant a drink.)

And so Sam found himself being herded towards the bar, where a shapely lass had her back to him.

"Maiden!" Frodo cried, wearing a playful grin on his face. "Oh, sweet maiden of the ale! My gardener is wilting. Will you not water him and smile your warm sunshine from your bonny face?"

Sam's jaw dropped as the barmaid turned around. Frodo turned to Merry and the pair chuckled quietly, but Sam did not hear.

"Ro…" Sam stopped himself. This woman standing afore him was certainly not the plain, boyish girl that he had spent so many years of his childhood with. Here was a tall, curvy lass with shiny, blonde curls and ruddy cheeks, the very definition of beautiful. Her blue eyes gleamed and sparkled as she smiled at him, a smile that was indeed like warm, golden sunshine. Was this really the girl he grew up with? "Miss Cotton!" She put her hands on her hips and pouted innocently.

"Now, whatever happened to Little Rose, I wonder? I en't changed, you know!" She laughed lightly, and Sam found his eyes travelling up and down her body, choosing to favour her hips and breasts.

"Begging your pardon Miss, but so you have!"

This sent Merry further into a fit of laughter, but Frodo managed to control himself and jump to Sam's rescue.

"This is a party is it not?" He turned to Sam and Merry, who had managed to stop laughing and cheer loudly. "Come on Sam! There's more folk for you to meet! Could you bring the ale to our table when you're ready, Rosie!" And Sam was herded away from the bar.

A few hours later and the party was still in full swing. Bilbo had taken Pippin home after the little lad had had some ale and fell asleep on the bar. Frodo was sitting in between Sam and Merry, and smiled as he watched Sam reminisce with Jolly Cotton over their childhood. He seemed happier and more radiant than he had in years, even when Jolly offered his condolences over Bell's anniversary the previous week. Sam just thanked him, and smiled in memory of her.

But despite Sam's improved demeanour, something worried Frodo. Ever since the encounter at the bar, he caught Sam glancing at Rosie here and there, with a look of wonder and lust on his face. But almost suddenly he would blush furiously, though no one was looking, and look away with an expression of great sadness and despondency.

As Frodo was reflecting upon this, he caught Sam glancing towards Rosie once more, and repeated this behaviour.

"Why don't you talk to her?" Frodo offered, as Sam looked back sharply, a full blush on his face.

"Oh no, Mr. Frodo. I couldn't!" Sam wrapped his hands around his mug, trying desperately to hide from the three pairs of eyes that regarded him with amusement.

"Why ever not?"

"I don't want to bother her when she's working."

"Sam, this whole night is for you!" Frodo sought to regain eye contact, but failed in his quest.

"Aye, why my sister en't spoken a word about anything other than this party since she first heard about it. She's been looking forward to seeing our Sam again." Jolly spoke up, clapping Sam friendly on his back.

"All the same, it's not my place to go badgering her." Sam gave a friendly nod to Jolly, who looked utterly bemused.

"Badgering? Why, she en't going to think badly of you for talking to her! She's sweet on you, and no mistake. Aren't you interested in our Rose, then? Too plain?" Jolly was only playing with Sam, teasing him as he used to when he was a younger boy, but Sam looked aghast.

"No! Not at all! She's the most beautiful girl I ever seen!" He looked back at her; she was busying herself behind the bar trying to serve as many Hobbits as quickly as she could. His heart ached with longing. "Pretty lass like that deserves better than a lowly, good-for-nothing gardener."

Frodo was taking a swig of ale at this point and he set his mug down on the table a little louder than he meant to, which made Sam and Jolly next to him jump.

"I do wish you would get your job out of your head. It doesn't make any difference to those that know you. You're a fine, respected young Hobbit around these parts!" To this Jolly raised his mug and cheered loudly, but Sam blushed and looked down.

"All the same," he repeated. "I'm not worthy of her." Merry chose this moment to speak up, having previously sat besides Frodo listening intently.

"Now where would you get an idea like that?" he enquired. Sam said nothing and downed the remaining dregs of his ale.

"Hamfast, you old devil! I thought you wouldn't show!" A Hobbit's voice carried over the crowd.

"I reckon you're right proud of our Sam, eh?" Another voice cried, most like old Farmer Cotton. "Twenty years old today, and what a head on his shoulders!"

Sam nearly fell backwards as he rushed to stand up. Frodo scanned the crowded and he spotted the old Gaffer, wearing a fake smile as he greeted the Hobbits. As urgently as he could, Sam politely forced his way through the crowd of Hobbits, muttering a "Sorry!" and an "Excuse me!" here and there. When he reached his father, he made a funny little bowing gesture, lowering his head down.

"Sir! Begging your pardon, I didn't know you were coming home tonight!" He spoke hurriedly, his breath hitching from his sudden exertion. Hamfast still smiled his fake smile at his son, maintaining an air of civility.

"Well, I thought I'd outstayed my welcome up in Tighfield, and fancied the idea of coming home and spending the evening with my son, on his birthday no less."

Frodo, who had made his way through the crowd to join them scowled slight. He wouldn't be surprised if Hamfast had forgotten that it was Sam's birthday today.

"I must say, Samwise," Hamfast continued, "I was surprised to find the hole empty and dark. I wasn't expecting to traipse over to Bywater, and after a long and tiring journey as well. Why, did you ever think I might have had bad news to carry, that your sister had taken a turn for the worse?"

Sam gasped and his face paled. Only Frodo and the Gaffer saw that he swayed on his feet s the horrible image swam through his mind. The other Hobbits had lost interest and had gone back to having a good time.

"Don't worry yourself, she's fine, but here's you, drinking and singing like you've nary a care in the world!"

Frodo's scowl grew. How could this man toy with his son like that? How could he let him believe his sister had gone to join his mother, leaving him even more alone with this monster standing before him? He swallowed down his thoughts and wore a neutral expression as he stepped forward.

"The party was our idea, Mr. Gamgee, and I'm afraid we dragged Sam here against his will. He's a very popular Hobbit as you can see, and many here have not seen him for some time. They all came together to see him into his tweenage years. Is that not cause for celebration?" Sam was tugging on Frodo's sleeve, unseen by the Gaffer, silently urging him to be quiet.

"Maybe it is among you Higher folk, sir but a quiet life's enough for Sam and I. Come along now, Samwise, that's enough excitement for one night!" Sam nodded and went off to fetch his coat. "I'll thank you for looking out for my boy, unnecessary though it was, and beg your pardon for seeming rude and stealing the '**_centre of attention_**' back home." Hamfast spoke civilly enough, though his voice betrayed him as the words 'centre of attention' dripped with sarcasm and resentment.

"Why don't you join us, Hamfast? You must be thirsty after your journey."

"Aye that, and tired too. No, it's home for us sir!" Sam returned with his coat folded over his arm. "Ready for an early start on the morrow. Say your goodnights, Sam."

"But it's his birthday! Let him stay and talk to his friends!" The Gaffer's eyes blazed with anger, but he managed to hide it so quickly and well. Sam looked frightened, and pleaded silently with Frodo to say no more.

"I'll thank you not to tell me what to do with my son, Master Baggins. I think he's had quite enough for one night." Hamfast turned away, but Frodo stood, bristling with anger.

"You can't treat him like this, it's wrong!" His shout came out, louder than he had intended and caught the attention of the Hobbits around them. Hamfast turned around slowly, and spoke slowly, quite offended.

"Excuse me?"

"Frodo!" Sam's voice was strained, and his eyes wide, as he tried to resolve the situation. "Mr. Frodo, you oughtn't to have done this, but I thank you for it. I'm sorry to leave but there's nought for it. It's late and the Gaffer's right, I've an early start. Goodnight Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo stood stock still, unable to move as he watched the Gaffer and Sam walk away. He felt torn but there was nothing he could do. He didn't want to leave things like that, but it seemed he had no choice.

As the father and son passed a Hobbit, concentrating hard on his pipe, the Gaffer hissed an administration to his son.

"Look at you, scum! Associating with all these fine folk and you a gardener? I warned you about getting ideas above your station! Who do you think you are? The Thain? And what ideas have you been putting in your master's head? 'You can't treat him like this!' Treat him like what? I ask you! I'll have your hide, so I will! Work on the morrow? You won't be able to move for a month!"

As they left, the pre-occupied Hobbit lit up his pipe, and looked deeply troubled. He headed over to Frodo, still standing in the centre of the inn.

"I'll have your hide so I will!" Merry said calmly, waiting for a reaction.

"What? Merry, what are you-?" The Brandbybuck folded his arms and glared at his older cousin.

"Ever since I saw Sam around his father, I've noticed something was off, not quite right. I've seen you, cousin, seen you chewing your nails with worry when Sam is late in the morning, I've seen you watching him at work in the garden, watching him with concern as if he were going to break. I've seen Sam shrink under his father's gaze. I've seen many things that to most would be hidden. And now I've heard the old man seemingly threatening Sam."

Frodo looked up, horrified.

"What did he say?"

"I'll have your hide so I will, you won't move for a month!"

Frodo fell into the nearest chair, rubbing his forehead in circular motions.

"What do you think he means by that? Certainly more than the same idle threat my own father has promised me with. You better tell me everything, dear cousin!"


End file.
